


Seed of Mercy

by PersephoneP



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon), Transformers Generation One
Genre: Cybertron, F/M, Fantasy, Mech Preg, Romance, Science Fiction, Steven Universe (Cartoon) Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-01-15 22:58:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 55,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18508804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersephoneP/pseuds/PersephoneP
Summary: 1986 - A disillusioned human anarchist makes a rash deal with the Decepticons, inadvertently leading them to an ancient Gem ruin and changing her own life irrevocably. The Crystal Gems and the Autobots must join forces to prevent a sinister Homeworld experiment from being revived, at grave risk to all organic life.





	1. The Empress and the Fool

**Author's Note:**

> Since "Steven Universe - The Movie" has rather upset the delicate balance of this crossover by audaciously developing its own universe rather than letting us plucky amateurs rewrite it at will, I should probably straighten out a few points ...
> 
> In spite of an unfortunate naming coincidence, one of the bad guys in this has nothing to do with a similarly-named official character.
> 
> This is only supposed to be an AU from the Transformers perspective. For the Gems, as far as I'm concerned, this is what they could plausibly have been getting up to in the 1980s while Rose was still around. As for what became of the Earth's giant robot population by 2013-ish, and why none of them bothered helping out when Homeworld started making incursions, the Cluster started awakening, Lapis drained the oceans, etc ... probably best left unanswered until I get the urge to write a sequel, if ever. ;)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new opportunity for energy presents itself to the Decepticons thanks to an unwise human, but even Megatron may not be aware of what he is getting himself into ...

__

 

_Arizona, circa 4000 BC._

 

“ _Destroyed_ , I ordered,” commanded the towering, stern, pink-clad figure seated within the palanquin, while the Nephrite squadron leader, standing to attention at as respectful a distance as she dared from its threshold, flinched back just a little further. “Not ‘guarded,’ not ‘sealed,’ but _destroyed_. I want every trace of this facility and its contents erased from the face of this planet. Was that command in any sense unclear, Nephrite, that I find myself repeating it so soon?”

“N- … no, My Diamond,” stammered the soldier, suppressing her panic much less well than her sense of injustice, which remained unspoken but glaring. _That I should be taking the blame for this … I’d be more than happy to bomb that accursed place into atoms and shoot the atoms into warp space, if it were my choice, but when is it ever?_ “Your orders were very clear … but it was my understanding that the Authority wanted a detailed enquiry into Zultanite’s research before taking any … irreversible action,” she explained, carefully avoiding the word ‘insubordinate.’ “Blue Diamond herself has expressed great interest in-”

“ _This is not Blue Diamond’s colony_!” raged Pink, rising to her feet and glaring down upon her quivering minion with laser intensity. Her anger was such that even the normally impassive Pearl servant, stationed at the foot of her throne, backed up against the ornately latticed wall of the palanquin in great anxiety. “This is _my_ colony, and _I_ am the final authority here, and the only one that need concern …” Suddenly conscious of her outburst, though, Pink Diamond paused, lowered herself back onto her throne, and softened her tone. “I will take full responsibility. If Blue Diamond does not like it, by all means refer her to me, but I want that pavilion obliterated by sundown … and I want Zultanite brought before me. Where is she?”

“Err … last seen at the Galaxy Warp, My Diamond … but current whereabouts unknown,” added the soldier, very uncomfortably. “She is, of course, notoriously elusive, and if she is at all aware of how much she seems to have fallen out of your favour, it will be no simple matter-”

“Fewer excuses, more action, Nephrite. Bring her to me, willingly if possible, bubbled if not, but do so without delay, or at least no more delay than is necessary to carry out your orders here. That operation takes precedence above all. See to it at once.”

On this very final note, the door of the palanquin closed, and the mobile tower rose up on its four pointed crystalline struts and scuttled off in the direction of the warp pad like some massive, ill-proportioned pink insect. The Nephrite gave a short sigh of relief before turning back to face the Pavilion of Mercy. Although it was discreetly located deep within the red stone canyon, the sun was high in the sky and reflected brightly off the smoothly finished jadeite walls of its central dome, and caused the multifaceted surfaces of its crystal spires to glitter dazzlingly. Like all Gem architecture, it was beautiful and intricate, but the only emotions it evoked in the soldier were fear and loathing, and in spite of her contradictory orders she raised her communicator to her mouth and carried out Pink Diamond’s command without hesitation or regret:

“Nephrite Facet-413 Cabochon-12 to squadron. Previous orders rescinded. All dropships to converge on sector one … Maximum destruction. I want nothing left of it. Please acknowledge.”

The pilots were quick to signal their understanding, and very soon the flotilla of disc-shaped stone warships that had previously been circling the area peacefully began to close in upon the valley in perfect formation, although the sense of balletic elegance was rather lost as they hammered the valley floor with bombs and lasers, and the shining pavilion erupted in a chaos of smoke, rubble, and crystal shards. Nephrite observed the devastation with grim satisfaction. _Oh, there’s going to be hell to pay, of course, but at least we can say with certainty that the galaxy just became a slightly less evil place._

************

_Decepticon seabase, 1986._

 

_Okay … this could hardly be less encouraging._

Gail Adler, 22, late of Central City Institute of Technology, contemplated her surroundings with all due despair, which was a lot. Low, cold fluorescent lighting glinted off harsh gunmetal grey surfaces, which were occasionally enlivened by the malicious, empty-eyed stare of the purple Decepticon sigil. Ominous silence currently reigned, other than the continual creaking and straining of metal bulkheads under the intense pressure of the deep sea water. The still, stale air of the crippled space cruiser was even colder than the lighting, and her neoprene wetsuit did little enough to counteract it, but she resisted the urge to wrap her arms around herself. _God knows, I look pathetic and vulnerable enough as it is._

Her early hopes of a smooth operation had been quickly ruined. Although a little discreet hacking of the US Coast Guard’s Ethernet had given her an accurate bearing on the Decepticon crash site, it had also warned her that the nearby shoreline was heavily patrolled for public protection, so she had been forced to make a much longer crossing from far down the coast to avoid official attention. By the time her small inflatable dinghy had reached the site coordinates, and after a few more hours of floating in choppy waters until the docking tower finally emerged from the depths – no doubt after the aliens had finally decided that this nuisance of a loiterer could no longer be safely ignored – she was thoroughly soaked, shivering, and exhausted. Now, surrounded by the gigantic robots within the cathedral-like dimensions of what must have once been the ship’s bridge, she could not help but sympathise with the stares of contempt and disbelief she was receiving from several pairs of glowing red eyes. _I guess I’ve deserved those … but this is what I wanted, and I’m still alive. They’re curious as well, which is all I need. As long as I get to say my piece, it doesn’t much matter what happens next._

Towering directly in front of her, elevated even above his normal terrifying stature upon a raised command chair, _and looking like someone really pissed off the Lincoln Memorial,_ the Decepticon leader scrutinised her suspiciously. At length, he leaned back and relaxed somewhat, although the grotesque cannon fixed to his right arm maintained its uncomfortably close aim. _At least that would be a mercifully quick end to this humiliation … though still a very disappointing one if I don’t get to do what I came here for._

“Well, if you _are_ an Autobot spy, you’re certainly a poor excuse for one,” declared Megatron, in the rasping, haughty tone she recalled well from many news reports, all depressing. “No weapons, no scanning devices, no backup … or at least none that cares enough about you to consider you worth recovering. Still, if you _did_ come here of your own free will, as you claim, it says less about your bravery and more about your stupidity. What death-wish could possibly have motivated you? I suggest you explain quickly, while I can sustain my curiosity.”

“Information, Leader,” she answered, sticking rigidly to the point. “Nothing more. Free information, no strings attached. What you do with it is your own decision … but I think you’ll find it interesting,” saying which, her trembling fingers awkwardly removed the waterproof pouch of clear plastic that was slung from her shoulder, and she held it out towards him. It contained a small batch of 5¼ inch floppy disks. After a short, if unbearably tense pause, Megatron leaned forwards and carefully took the pouch from her. She barely succeeded in maintaining her still, resolute posture as the immense metal fingers, each powerful enough to have caved in her skull with a casual flick, came within inches of her face. When he had relieved her of the disks, however, he merely leaned back into his improvised throne and studied her ‘gift’ with a fixated, if confused expression. It was Starscream who eventually broke the silence, his shrill, sneering voice halfway between an annoyed vulture and a train making an emergency braking:

“What fools do you take us for, earth germ? This is obviously some stupid ploy to trick us into installing a virus on our systems. Only a complete imbecile would think for a single astro-second that-”

“Silence!” interrupted Megatron, venomously, having clearly not cared for the implied insult. After a moment’s reflection, however, he turned back to Gail and spoke, his tone calm but deeply distrustful. “What _do_ you have to say to that, human?”

“Your computer technology is vastly superior to ours,” she answered, with a little more confidence in her voice. She had fully expected this question. “I don’t suppose any human-made virus could seriously threaten it. Even if you suspect it could, you must surely have ways of studying the data safely. An air-gapped computer, or even some kind of Faraday cage if you’re really concerned about electromagnetic-”

“Point taken,” he cut back in, irritably. “You’ve thought your story through, I’ll concede you that. So, what is the nature of this information you are so inexplicably eager to share with us?”

“A fresh energy source,” she replied, astounded that she had survived this far, but still taking pains not to try her ‘host’s’ patience. “Kayser Petrochemicals have discovered an untapped oil well in the Kachina Valley National Monument, and they’ve been given a federal permit to start drilling. Everything about it is on those diskettes: the location, the geophysical survey data, the core samples. They’ve been keeping it all highly secretive, so-”

“Secretive, yet _you_ just happen to have access to it? I have not troubled myself to become an expert on your insignificant species, but in my experience power and privileged information tends to be vested among the older, male, white-skinned specimens, and you occupy none of those categories.”

“Oh, noticed that, have you?” she unwisely quipped, and instantly wished that she had kept a better rein on her cynical amusement, as Megatron resumed in a tone close to a snarl:

“I did _not_ ask for counter-questions, girl! If you wish to survive, you will answer respectfully and to the point. Now, tell me where you acquired the information.”

“I’m a grad student at CCIT,” she answered, as meekly as any cybernetic megalomaniac could have wished for. “I was doing some late-night research in the Earth Sciences Department, when I overheard the dean talking about it with a couple of Kayser’s executives. I got curious … and I hacked her computer for all the information I could get on it. That’s all there is to it.”

“Data theft is your academic field? Then at least you have one virtue to your name.”

“Err, just a sideline, Leader. My actual research is into renewable energy. Geothermal, hydropower, you probably get the-”

“Indeed. Well, it may or may not please you to know that you just gained some potential value as a slave,” declared Megatron, doing nothing to raise her spirits. “Not to stray from the point though … _Why_ share this information with us? What do you hope to gain from that?”

_And here’s where it gets really tricky … There are so many ways I could answer that, but none you’re likely to be interested in any more than the greedy bunch of suits who approved this atrocity. The environmental devastation, the poisoned aquifers, the fact that those are ancestral, to say nothing of sacred Hopi lands which the government’s happy to see raped to death, but you don’t give a damn about any of that, do you, you sociopathic old bucket of- ?_

“NEURO-ELECTRICAL SCAN INDICATES THAT THE LANDS BELONGED TO HER ANCESTORS,” declared Soundwave, his deep, echoing monotone no less depressing to her for its lack of inflection. _He reads minds. Just effing perfect._ In spite of her own displeasure at being thus probed, the revelation seemed to cheer up Megatron no ends. His posture became almost relaxed, and his suspicious frown gave way to a satisfied, if by no means pleasant smile. This was a motive he could relate to, and which made perfect sense to him.

“Ah, and you wish us to help you reclaim them in return for the energy source, yes?” he asked, his tone dripping with false magnanimity. “You might have said that at once, my dear, and spared us all the intrigue. At least here we have a sound basis for-”

_Oh, please. I may have a death wish, but don’t you dare take me for a complete moron._

“It’s nothing like that,” she snapped back, angrily, drawing more than a few surprised and even mildly impressed stares from the surrounding Decepticons. “I don’t want the lands for myself. I’m just sick of Kayser, and the government, and everyone like them turning this country into a toxic waste dump for a few measly dollars. It’s corporate sabotage … and I’m using you, I don’t deny it, but what does that matter if our interests coincide? Your technology’s way more efficient than ours. If Kayser sets up shop there, there’ll be pollution, spills, poison gas emissions, the whole works, maybe for years to come. If you get there before them, though, you could drain that whole well dry with minimal damage, turn it all into energon cubes, leave nothing for them. It’s a win-win situation, except for those fat cats, but who gives a- ?”

“And yet, you gain _nothing_ from this?” asked Megatron, his displeasure and suspicion back with full force. “Indeed, you would risk your own demise by bringing this to us, and for nothing except the dubious pleasure of committing some petty act of treason? I fear you will force me to sympathise with my air commander,” he declared, while Starscream grimaced resentfully. “There must be some trick in this. You do not even try to lend plausibility to your scheme by asking me for the slightest of fav- … Do you find that _amusing_?” he asked, viciously, as she failed to suppress a sardonic giggle. Suspecting that she had little to lose now, and almost resigned to her fate, Gail answered him with honest irony:

“Well … not meaning to be disrespectful, Megatron … but how _are_ your old friends Dr. Arkeville and Shawn Berger doing these days?”

“Alive, and better-off than they deserve,” he answered, gravely.

“That’s for sure … but anyway, you don’t exactly have a great rep for generosity towards your human allies. No offence, but I knew better than to ask for favours when I came here.”

“Yet with such a low opinion of me, you offer _me_ an unconditional favour? You can understand my problem, no doubt. Supposing your request _is_ motivated by pure altruism,” he reasoned, pronouncing the last word with marked distaste. “Some … perhaps most would say that I make a strange choice of ally. Why did you not bring this petition to the ever-noble Optimus Prime instead? I daresay he would have been only too … You find that amusing too … or not?” he asked, struggling to interpret her cynical, mirthless laugh.

“Not exactly … but I _did_ bring it to him,” she confessed, bitterly. “He refused to get his lily-white hands dirty. ‘Sworn not to interfere in human politics,’ apparently. Oh sure, he’s the big damn hero when it comes to protecting the government, their cherished citizens, their fricking military bases and ICBMs, even. Whenever it comes to that government arming and aiding terrorists, torturers, and fascists, though, or abusing the heck out of any form of life that isn’t human, or trampling all over the rights of _my_ people … suddenly, it seems like your Autobot opposite number’s a thousand miles away with his metallic fingers in his metallic ears. Sure, you’re a villain, but he’s a mealy-mouthed moral coward and a hypocrite, not to mention a willing slave and a shill to the very worst humanity has to offer. If that’s what passes for a hero these days, then …”

On this occasion, the cynical laughter came not from her but from Megatron himself, and it was no sad little involuntary chuckle, but a full-blooded, maniacal, demonic guffaw, even more horrible for its scratchy, metallic quality. It was, at any rate, a profoundly demoralising sound, and even the rest of the Decepticons did not at first seem to know how they should react to it. At length, however, as it became clear that the big boss was definitely in a non-ironic good mood, they started to join in, and before long Gail was surrounded by a veritable chorus of malicious, inhuman exultation. The atmosphere seemed to grow even colder from the sound, and she stopped resisting the urge to wrap her arms around herself, not caring that it made her look even more vulnerable. As the laughter died down, Megatron turned to Soundwave, who had remained characteristically silent throughout the ugly scene.

“Soundwave: please tell me you’ve been recording this … fascinating conversation.”

“AFFIRMATIVE.”

“Good, because I need that last sentence especially set to _music_. Optimus Prime, a coward and a hypocrite … I must admit, human, it does my laser core good to hear that. The great number of fools who hold that pompous, nauseating do-gooder in high esteem … including some of my own troops, I occasionally fear. It is pleasant to be reminded one is not alone in one’s opinions. Well, just for that, I must _insist_ that you ask a boon of me,” he declared, with a smug approximation of generosity that did little enough for Gail’s morale. If anything, it made her feel like the court jester of some capricious, sadistic tyrant who had, completely by accident, managed to pull off a good jape for once. “I may fall short of your image of the magnanimous emperor, but let us pretend that I am one, at least for now. What would you have of me, girl? Ask it without fear. As long as it is reasonable … and respectful, it will be granted.”

_Playing with me, of course. I’ve been promoted from ‘germ’ to ‘toy.’ How overwhelming … Still, a glimmer of hope, I guess, but what’s the least I can safely ask for without appearing to slight the old bastard … sorry if you heard that, Soundwave. Well, here goes nothing …_

“There is one thing … if it please you, Leader,” she answered, picking each word as if it might be her last. “When … or if I leave here, it’s likely that the authorities will find out what I’ve done, sooner or later. The word ‘treason’ might be a bit strong, but I don’t suppose they’ll be very merciful … but with the computer facilities you’ve got here, I guess you _could_ erase my previous records, set me up with a new identity … if that wouldn’t be too much to ask.”

“Not at all,” answered Megatron, his cruel smirk intensifying. “Simplicity itself. Perhaps a little _too_ simple, but we can always work on that. In the meantime, you look tired. Soundwave, give our guest a level one concussion blast. She needs a nice long rest.”

As an agonising pounding filled her brain and the world started to fade to black, Gail’s last conscious thought was that she ought to have just played along, not tried to be clever, and asked to be made ruler of the Earth. _No way this is going to end well for …_

************

Megatron stared down upon the sprawled, unconscious form of his ‘guest’ with a certain amount of disdain, although less than he was accustomed to feel concerning her worthless species. She seemed the very epitome of powerlessness, her frail form emphasised by the close-fitting synthetic garment she wore, _and yet by no means without courage … nor insolence. It’s only fitting that she should be punished for that, yet I cannot help but feel the universe would be a poorer place if I terminate one of the few of us who considers Optimus Prime beneath contempt. No need to be so wasteful. I believe I can encompass her reward and her punishment in the same act._

“Well, that was kind of interesting … if weird,” opined Rumble, casually. “What do you want done with her, Megatron? Flush her out of the airlock, nice long final swim?”

“I appreciate your diligence, Rumble, but for now I’d prefer you to just take her to the laboratory, and keep her sedated. I’ve an amusing experiment in mind.” In spite of being barely over human stature himself, the small Decepticon effortlessly lifted the woman and carried her from the bridge, followed by more than a few bemused stares. _No doubt Starscream will imminently accuse me of going soft. Let him. I could use the target practice._ As this went on, Soundwave, with typical devotion to duty, was already studying the primitive computer storage disks that she had brought, delicately placing them within his chest cavity for his own laser scanners to pore over. _He fears no human-made virus … yet something is amiss,_ realised Megatron, noticing his chief lieutenant’s very slight changes in posture and mannerism that betrayed troubled emotions. Few would have noticed those signs, _but few have known him as long as I have._ “Your analysis, Soundwave?”

“ANOMALOUS DATA,” declared Soundwave. “DISCREPANCIES BETWEEN THE GEOPHYSICAL SCANS AND THE CORE SAMPLES, AND KNOWN GEOLOGICAL PROFILES OF THE SITE. ONLY SLIGHT – AN INEXPERT EYE WOULD OVERLOOK THEM – BUT NEVERTHELESS … 96.45% PROBABILITY THIS DATA HAS BEEN FALSIFIED.”

“I _knew_ it!” blurted Starscream, angrily and impetuously. “A trick, just like I said! The treacherous human scum! We should have just killed it without-”

“NEGATIVE, STARSCREAM. SHE WAS SINCERE, IF IGNORANT. SHE WAS THE COURIER OF THE MISINFORMATION, BUT NOT THE SOURCE.”

“Your conclusion?” asked Megatron, while Starscream lapsed back into a sullen silence. “Why would the humans fake their own data? To lead us into a trap?”

“IMPROBABLE. TOO UNRELIABLE A STRATEGY. MORE LIKELY, A COVER STORY. THE GOVERNMENT, OR SOMEONE CLOSE TO IT, WISHES TO EXCAVATE THAT AREA UNDER THE PRETEXT OF AN OIL OPERATION, WHILE CONCEALING THEIR TRUE OBJECTIVE. INSUFFICIENT DATA FOR AN INFORMED PROJECTION ON WHAT THAT MIGHT BE. POSSIBILITIES INCLUDE ALIEN ARTEFACT, METEORITE OF UNKNOWN PROPERTIES, NEWLY-DISCOVERED SOURCE OF ENERGY-”

“Any of which would be well worth the trouble of acquiring. Excellent. It seems our guest may have brought us something far more interesting than a mere oil well.” _Perhaps something powerful, that might even conclude this tedious excuse for a war, annihilate those accursed Autobots, and give me free rein to bring this galaxy under Decepticon heel, where it belongs. One can only hope Miss Adler will appreciate the outcome of her works as much as the rest of us._

************

_Meanwhile, at CCIT …_

 

It was the dead of night and no lights were on in the office of the Dean of Earth Sciences, but it was by no means deserted. A tall, slender woman sat at the desktop computer, squinting intently over her long, pointed nose as she studied an eye-wateringly gaudy CGA display of windowed files. Coincidentally, the graphics went quite well with her unusual attire: a two-tone pastel blue leotard, pink leg warmers, and aqua ballet flats that would have looked perfect in any dance studio of the era. _Maybe not so great for a burglary, though,_ thought Garnet, as she paced nearby. She was somewhat less outrageously dressed, in black leggings, a purple top with a yellow zigzag motif, and wide wraparound shades, _but hey, I’m pushing eight feet tall, with three eyes, so maybe best not to point the finger. Fitting in was never our thing … not even with our own kind._ As if to emphasise the point, Amethyst – who was lounging with evident boredom on a nearby lab bench, dressed in black trousers and a purple tunic that matched her skin tone – decided to pass the time by munching some litmus paper she had scavenged, to Pearl’s annoyance.

“Amethyst! Stop eating the lab supplies!” hissed their hacker, briefly glancing away from her work. “This is supposed to be a quick, discreet operation.”

“Yeah, _quick_ would be sooooo nice, Pearl,” replied Amethyst, wearily. “If you’d like to do that any faster, please be my-”

“Oh, I’d like to see _you_ do any better with this primitive Earth interface.”

“Whatever. I don’t get why Rose wants us to rob a high school, anyway.”

“A university, Amethyst. Not a high school,” explained Garnet, also in a lowered tone and with some reverence. “A place where humans can come and study whatever they want, choose to be whatever feels right to them, instead of having a function forced upon them.” _Something Homeworld could have benefited from, fat chance that it ever will._

“And this _hardly_ constitutes robbery,” added Pearl. “No humans should even know about the Pavilion of Mercy. If they’ve been nosing around there, or even worse trying to excavate its remains, it’s our duty to find out how much they know, and put a stop to it before they cause themselves any harm. Gem ruins are dangerous places at the best of times, and _this_ one especially.”

“What actually went on there?” asked Garnet, although uncertain she really wished to know.

“Experiments. That’s all I know. Pearls weren’t exactly privy to classified research … but what I _do_ know is that the experiments were horrible enough that Pink Diamond ordered them stopped, and had the Pavilion razed to the ground.”

“Horrible enough to sicken a Diamond,” reflected Garnet, sardonically. “ _That’s_ pretty disturbing. Still … it might just be coincidence. The humans _have_ become stupidly addicted to oil over the last century or so, and this Dr. Stendahl is on the board of Kayser Petrochemicals. They’re the ones who own those jeeps we saw near the Pavilion warp pad,” she added, for Amethyst’s benefit. “It’s not _ideal_ them being there at all, of course, but if it’s just to hunt for resources-”

“Then I’d like to know what the good doctor is doing with _this_ on her hard drive,” interrupted Pearl, leaning back from the monitor and gesturing towards the screen. She had minimised most of the windows except for one, which showed a schematic-type line drawing of a dome-shaped building surrounded by four tall, multifaceted spires. _Just like in the archives Rose showed us. So much for my optimism, then._

“Well, I suppose that seals the deal,” declared Garnet, sadly. “It’s enough for me. We’d better get this information to Rose at once, unless you’ve found anything else interesting.”

“Only that someone else hacked this computer before I got to it,” answered Pearl, resizing a few of the other windows, which just contained incomprehensible streams of textual data as far as Garnet could make out. “Not very competently, either: they left an intrusion signature as long as my spear. Any number of failed login attempts … No doubt some other curious human who ought to have known better … Maybe I should take a record of this, Garnet,” she suggested, with an air of concern. “If some poor student took it into their head to investigate this by themselves … Of course, they wouldn’t have understood anything they discovered about the Pavilion, but even so …”

“They might have gotten themselves into some serious trouble, or maybe even danger. Rose would want us to help them. Do it,” ordered Garnet, though she quickly regretted it. Pearl typed a few keys, whereupon the dot matrix printer buzzed noisily into life, its high-pitched tones reverberating throughout the office and making a mockery of their hushed voices. “You couldn’t have taken a record _silently_ , Pearl? Like on a disk, or something?”

“I, err, didn’t think of that. Sorry,” apologised Pearl, blushing a shade of pale blue. “It should be finished in a matter of … Where are you going?”

“Out in the corridor to keep watch. There _are_ security guards in this building, you know?”

“Big deal,” said Amethyst, dismissively. “I’d like to see what they’d do to _us_.”

“Yeah, well I’d sooner _not_ ,” replied Garnet, sternly. “We’re here to help humans, not to harm them, and the last thing we need is to be marked as criminals by them as well as Homeworld. You two sit tight,” she ordered, and marched out into the corridor, closing the door behind her. She was pleasantly surprised to discover that when it was closed, the noise of the printer was far more muffled than she had feared it would be, no more conspicuous than the sounds of the plumbing, the owls hooting from outside, the faint footsteps from just along the …

_Oh dear. That’s torn it … or maybe it hasn’t._

What she had first thought were regular, approaching footfalls soon proved to be nothing of the kind. On the contrary, they soon became extremely irregular, and were coming no closer. If anything, it sounded more like someone shuffling purposelessly around a nearby small room. Although Garnet’s cautious, Sapphire-y nature was strongly advocating ignoring the strange sound and sticking to the mission, the Ruby in her got the upper hand. _What was it that Pearl said? Some poor student, maybe got into this too deeply. Suppose they locked her up here to stop her from interfering. If I don’t check it out, I’ll never forgive myself._ Quickly but stealthily, she traced the sound a short distance down the main corridor, around a turning, down a narrow flight of metal stairs, and into a small basement corridor. It was almost pitch-dark down here, save for the sickly moonlight that managed to penetrate down the stairwell, so Garnet raised her left hand and projected a beam of reddish light from her Ruby gem. It revealed a few doors, all metal with vented grilles, yellow triangular warning signs, and sturdy locking mechanisms. In a good light, with the daily bustle of the campus to distract the ear, they might have seemed innocent enough – perhaps just access doors for the utility tunnels – but in the silence that now reigned, the quiet but much clearer sounds of intermittent shuffling that issued from the vent of the furthest door made Garnet’s skin crawl. _Why do I feel I’m only going to regret this?_ Steeling herself, and having summoned her right-hand gauntlet, she grasped the handle, forced the lock effortlessly, and pulled the door open.

The room beyond was plain concrete, unlit, and altogether bare except for a squat, shapeless form slumped in the far corner. It shifted as the door opened, raised what might have been its head, and turned towards her. With extreme reluctance, she trained the light of her gem upon it. The briefest glimpse of its distorted, barely humanoid features and its lumpy, fungal proportions, to say nothing of the screech of inarticulate anguish it gave, more than sufficed for Garnet’s curiosity, and as it lumbered awkwardly towards her, whether in aggression or sheer desperation – either seemed as likely – she knew exactly what course of action to take.

On her way back, she met Pearl and Amethyst in the corridor, both with their weapons drawn. No doubt the creature’s screams had carried even further than its footsteps. They relaxed their tense postures on seeing her safe and well, but stared avidly at the translucent pink bubble that floated above her right hand.

“Woah, that _was_ a Gem monster, then … and you poofed it without us,” said Amethyst, with playful disappointment. “Aw, no fair. You get all the fun on this mission while we-”

“This wasn’t fun,” interrupted Garnet, so coldly and grimly that Amethyst fell at once into awed silence. Pearl needed no such incentive as she studied the tiny object within the bubble with morbid fixation. It was of a pale, brownish hue, see-through but blotchy, and of very irregular shape, more like some organic accretion than a gemstone, like something that an Earth surgeon might extract from a diseased organ.

“That’s … like … no corrupted gem I’ve ever seen,” was Pearl’s eventual, extremely distasteful assessment.

“Corrupted … or just corrupt, maybe?” speculated Garnet, as she willed the bubble to vanish. _Away to the Temple with all of the others, to wait for however many more centuries it takes for us to find a way to heal them … though something tells me there’s not much we can ever hope to do for this one._ “Enough talk, anyway. We’ve got all the evidence we need. Time we told Rose. Whoever this Dr. Stendahl is, and whatever her game is, I reckon she’s got a _lot_ to answer for.”

 


	2. All I Want to Do is Help You Turn into …

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron 'rewards' his human informant, while Rose Quartz tries to persuade Optimus Prime that being 'lawful good' sometimes has dangerous limitations.

As Starscream and Bombshell completed the last few micro-welds of the mech’s limb actuators, Soundwave surveyed their work dubiously. _Competent engineering, at least. Even elegant, especially considering the poor facilities here. Starscream is such a disgrace to the title of officer, one forgets he is still a passable scientist. On the technical front, she ought to have no complaints … but I still don’t imagine she’ll be thrilled. So gratuitous. A clean shot would have sufficed._ Soundwave had not been at war for countless aeons only to become sentimental in his old age, nor to start doubting the value of the Decepticon cause, _and our ‘guest’ more or less said it herself: her species does not hesitate to exploit or destroy those they deem inferior in furtherance of their own survival, or for even pettier reasons, but we are manifestly superior beings, and should be ruthless but logical, focused, above pettiness. We should be …_

He glanced towards the smaller bench upon which the human woman now lay, still sedated, stripped naked, shaved bald, and with an ugly tangle of wires and plastic tubes protruding from all over her body, with the thickest concentration from her scalp. _On reflection, her ‘future’ was a prettier sight,_ he decided, and turned back to the large workbench. The finished mech that lay on it was basically of Seeker configuration, with upswept, pointed-tipped wings radiating from its back; tall jet intake pylons on each of its shoulders; long plasma rifles bolted to its upper arms; and black bodywork with pale purple highlights. It was subtly different from the standard Seeker build, however: a little smaller and slighter, the lines of its figure somewhat less harsh and angular, the glassy red eyes a little wider … _or, to put it briefly, a mauve, slinky Skywarp. Ridiculous, and dangerous. I hope Megatron tires of this whim soon. Truly the best scenario is that she will go mad quickly and have to be put out of her misery. Far worse for us all if she actually works out. Very unlikely … but very dangerous indeed. Our cause, indeed, the very future of our race depends upon certainties and clear divisions. The last thing we need is grey areas._

“Credit where it is due, Starscream,” said Megatron as he examined the mech, his satisfied tone doing nothing for Soundwave’s morale. “You’ve surpassed yourself. One would never know that there was not a single Cybertron-made component in her body. She makes me feel almost nostalgic.” _Well, at least he didn’t say ‘romantic,’ thank Primus for small mercies._

“Indeed, with only these crude Earth materials to hand, it was no easy matter,” replied Starscream, haughtily. “Let us hope that your new toy appreciates my efforts … assuming, of course, that the transferral doesn’t just scramble her feeble excuse for a mind and send her on a demented rampage like the last human we saw this process attempted on.”

“Do you take me for that bungling amateur, Wheeljack?” asked Bombshell, rhetorically and very resentfully. “Manipulating minds is what I _live_ for. The transferral will be completely stable … if pointless. A human spark in a Cybertonian laser core …” mused the Insecticon engineer, with a loathing that Soundwave feared was widely shared by the various off-duty Decepticons who had come to watch the experiment. “Disgusting idea, but if that’s what the boss wants-”

“It is far from pointless, Bombshell,” interrupted Megatron, in a harsh, authoritative tone. Soundwave refrained from probing his leader’s mind to find out if he was sincere, or merely making excuses. _As the humans say, ignorance is bliss, and they ought to know._ “There is a very definite purpose to this, and one _you_ , as a supposed psychological warfare expert, should appreciate. We have expended great effort on trying to destroy the Autobots as a group, but comparatively little on trying to indoctrinate them as individuals, yet this sorry Earth creature cannot be alone in seeing Optimus Prime’s inadequacies. The loyalty of the Dinobots is notoriously fickle. Also … err-”

“MIRAGE’S COMMITMENT TO AUTOBOT CAUSE KNOWN TO BE DOUBTFUL,” Soundwave hastily volunteered, preferring to swallow his own doubts and play along rather than see his leader in a hole and digging himself deeper. “SUNSTREAKER HAS BEEN KNOWN TO REMARK ON THE INFERIORITY OF HUMANS. IN SPITE OF INITIAL DEFECTION, SKYFIRE SHOULD STILL BE CONSIDERED IMPRESSIONABLE.”

“Exactly,” said Megatron, in a confident ‘you-took-the-words-right-out-of-my-mouth’ tone. “Undermine the loyalties of but a few of them, and others will start to question. Our guest … our new recruit, I should say, will be the perfect guinea pig for refining our propaganda techniques. This is a trivial matter, though. Far more important is the intel she has brought us. When will the Space Bridge be aligned, Shockwave?” he asked, turning to a wall monitor upon which the face of the Cybertron commandant was displayed, if the blank, single-eyed panel that fronted his angular, box-like head could really be described as a ‘face.’

“In three thousand astro-seconds, Megatron,” answered Shockwave, with brisk efficiency. “The Constructicons will be ready to depart for Earth, as per your orders.”

“See that they are. We will require their services if we are to excavate this site quickly and thoroughly, before news gets through to Prime and he decides that he has no choice _but_ to get his ‘lily-white hands dirty’ after all. Not that I wouldn’t welcome the chance to gouge out his optical sensors, but I would sooner have our spoils safely in hand first. For now, though, let’s not detain poor Miss Adler any longer. Bombshell: commence the transferral. Soundwave: monitor her brain activity. Alert us if you detect any sign of instability.”

 _Always the nicest jobs,_ thought Soundwave, cynically, as he tuned into the neural rhythms of the unconscious woman, currently weak but steady. As Bombshell switched on the apparatus, though, and angry red sparks of plasma began to snake along the trailing wires, those steady rhythms went into wild flux, but only for a matter of nano-seconds, then they died off almost completely, leaving just the faintest, residual activity from her lower brain systems. _But no consciousness. It her mind still exists, it is not here._ Soundwave quickly switched his focus to the female mech, and immediately located the departed neural rhythms, although somewhat enhanced: a testimony to the strength and precision of the cybernetic brain that now housed them. _A backstabbing creep he may be, but Bombshell knows his job. If she goes insane, it will not be the fault of his calibrations, but I’m taking no bets._ The mech’s dead eyes gradually illuminated, until they glowed brightly red. Starscream operated a mechanism on the workbench, causing it to tilt until it stood almost vertical, with the mech’s feet just a step away from ground level. Her head began to move slightly, flickers of awareness and expression began to animate her chrome-skinned face … then the brain rhythms spiked, as Soundwave had fully expected they would, in distress and confusion. _Here it comes …_

“Something’s not … Why am I up so high? You’re all at eye level. I … My voice,” she said, in increasing consternation, as she heard her synthesised tones: not dissimilar to those of her organic voice, but denatured and metallic. “What’s happening to me? I don’t-”

“Perhaps if you step this way, my dear, then all will become clear,” said Megatron, holding out his hand to her, his voice a smug, cloying parody of chivalry. Confused, but too weak to be anything other than compliant, she reached out to take his hand, only to flinch back in absolute horror as her own segmented, metallic purple fingers drifted into her eyesight. Soundwave felt the inevitable tempest of fear, despair, and self-loathing building, and he braced himself for the descent into madness, but something unexpected happened: as she caught Megatron’s cruel, manipulative gaze again, her emotions hardened, she arrested the descent with a tremendous effort of will, and she seized his hand with forced determination. _Oh … interesting. Stronger than I thought, then,_ mused Soundwave, as Megatron helped her from the workbench and led her across to a polished silver bulkhead. _I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not, but at least if we do end up terminating her, I deem her capable of facing it with honour._ When she caught her reflection in the improvised mirror, the mech lowered her head, and for all her effort she was unable to keep her expression free of anguish, but still she held off the mental breakdown that her instincts were strongly lobbying for. _She certainly has the stubbornness of a Decepticon, if nothing else._ She held this silent, melancholy posture for some seconds before Thundercracker eventually spoke:

“Lost for words, toots?” he asked. “Small wonder. Guess this must be pretty overwhelming for you. Not every day you stop being a puny flesh creature and join the elite, eh?” Although far from insightful, the remark was not unkindly-meant. _No-one could mistake him for anything but an unsophisticated grunt, but he lags behind his fellow Seekers in the ‘petty sadism’ stakes._ The new recruit acknowledged her comrade’s clumsy gesture with a brief, sickly half-smile, which Thundercracker – probably for the best – lacked the wit to note the insincerity of, but her gaze was soon drawn towards the small bench upon which her near brain-dead human remains still lay, enmeshed within their smouldering web of now mostly burned-out wires.

“Yes, look upon it well,” said Megatron, superfluously, as her eyes were already morbidly fixated upon it. “The vessel of your weakness; pathetic, fragile, inefficient, ugly … and dying. Look upon it well, Stormbird, and rejoice that you are rid of it. That is your name, incidentally, chosen partly in honour of a member of our team who is, alas, no longer with us, and partly in reference to your own history. It was the title of a combat aircraft from one of your many trivial wars, albeit one that was motivated by an unusual sense of vision and purpose by human standards.”

“I know it: the nickname of a Nazi fighter jet,” replied Stormbird, doing her best to sound stoical, but coming across as quite nauseous. “That’s … just … lovely.”

“I am gratified you approve, although of course your altmode is nothing so antiquated. Like your fellow Seekers, you transform into what I believe is known as an ‘F-15A’ - a much-favoured weapon of the government you so despise – so no doubt you’ll appreciate the irony of using that form to attack their personnel, raid their installations, and subject them to worse humiliations than they have inflicted upon you … in due course, that is. Your combat and transformation protocols have yet to be installed, and will not be until you have proven your loyalty and commitment, for which you will of course be afforded every opportunity. For the present, though, perhaps _I_ had better clean up your mess,” he declared, then trained his fusion cannon upon her organic remains and fired. After the smoke and residual plasma had cleared, nothing remained except an acrid smell and a sooty smudge on the metal floor. “There. Your past is now so many subatomic particles, and _we_ are your only conceivable future. Have you nothing to say to that, Stormbird?”

“Well … you’ve … _definitely_ kept your word to me, Megatron … Leader,” she answered, struggling to keep her tone level, although considering the amount of fear, rage, and dismay that was clamouring to be heard in it, Soundwave was not unimpressed. “I asked for a new identity … You sure don’t take half-measures. I guess my own parents wouldn’t know me now … and I suppose not many other humans will have ever been granted this, err, privilege.”

“Only one other, to our knowledge, and he was most unappreciative. I had a feeling you would show more discernment.”

“It’s … an honour I really didn’t expect,” she said, not entirely insincerely. _Forcing herself to see the positive aspects in spite of being acutely aware that the life she knew is over, choosing survival nonetheless. A tenacious creature, one must admit. Perhaps I was hasty to judge. She can certainly be no more undeserving than those degenerate Combaticons that Starscream pressed into our service, nor those perfidious, mercenary Insecticons._ “I’ll do my best to be worthy of it.”

“Excellent. I have every confidence-”

“As long as you don’t order me to do anything grossly unethical, of course.”

 _Then again, ‘deserving’ does have its inherent risks._ There was a pause so tense one could have sliced the atmosphere with an energon blade, during which more than a few optical lenses widened and Megatron smiled dangerously. It was Starscream who eventually broke the silence, in a histrionic shriek of outrage:

“Who are you to judge us, you worthless hybrid abomination? Be grateful you’re still alive, though that can be easily remedied. After all that’s been done for you, that you should accuse us-”

“I intended no accusation, Air Commander … sir,” interrupted Stormbird, in a tone of studied formality. “I only raised it as a hypothetical point.”

“Yes … well … you just mind your place, Seeker!” blurted Starscream, trying his best to sound authoritative, although managing to sound more like an annoyed schoolteacher than a sergeant major, while Soundwave – not for the first time in his formidably long life – was grateful that his facial mods did not permit much expression, _or I’d be smirking from audio receptor to audio receptor. She’s been a Decepticon for all of five minutes, and she’s already got your number, you arrogant little cipher._ In spite of his nominal high rank, months could pass in the base before even the lowliest of Decepticons showed Starscream any respect. The thought of actually having one soldier on the team who did not consider him a complete joke was all the leverage Stormbird needed to win his acceptance. _Not that this will help her if she’s angered Megatron, but one must applaud her deviousness._ The tension had eased, though, and when Megatron spoke to her again it was with only a faint undertone of warning to let her know that she had overstepped:

“Your first duty, my dear, will be very mundane, I fear, but well within your field. You will familiarise yourself with our power systems and survey the nearby shoreline with a view to constructing tidal generators. Since fate and the Autobots have cursed us with a sea-bound base, it is high time we made a virtue of necessity and started producing energon cubes on-site. I trust that does not offend your sense of ‘ethics.’”

“No … I mean yes, Leader,” she answered, with tentative relief. “I guess that should be fine. I’ll get onto that at once, shall- ?”

“I am pleased you are so eager, because the sooner we make headway with that, the sooner we can commence your basic training, so to speak. Munitions, sabotage … terrorism. Be under no illusions, Stormbird: you are a combat unit, as are we all, and you would do well to reconcile yourself to that purpose soon, or you risk having no purpose. Do we have an understanding?”

“Yes, Leader,” she answered, coldly and bitterly.

“Good. Soundwave: deploy Ravage. We’re unlikely to need his espionage services for the present mission, so he may as well play the ‘babysitter’ until we can trust her alone.”

“RAVAGE: EJECT,” ordered Soundwave, operating his chest cavity. Ravage emerged in micro-cassette form, transformed in mid-air, and landed on all fours as a fully-formed robotic jaguar. “OPERATION … PROBATION.” Ravage briefly attempted a threatening metallic growl, but it stuck in his throat the instant he saw his charge. _He’s used to terrifying organic primitives and smaller, weaker Autobots. A full-sized female Decepticon is a little outside his range of experience._ He cast a confused glance towards his master, and Soundwave gave him a nod of confirmation. With a small shrug of his foreleg actuators, he padded over to Stormbird, who responded to this not-particularly-threatening overture by idly reaching out and scratching him behind the ear, which he did not resist any more than he would have done from Soundwave himself. _Not quite what Megatron intended, I fear, but his friendship will serve her better than Starscream’s._

“Escort our new friend to the engine room, Ravage,” commanded Megatron. “Keep her comfortable, but closely guarded.” As the two of them departed, their echoing steps diminishing down the corridors of the submerged ship, he turned back to his assembled subordinates. “Comments, anyone?”

“I dunno … She seems nice,” said Thundercracker, his offhand manner doing nothing to deter a few sarcastic sniggers. “Be a change to have someone with a few manners around the joint.”

“You kidding me?” asked Skywarp, contemptuously. “‘Nice,’ as in ‘weak.’ Just cause you think she’s got a shine on you – which she totally hasn’t – you think _I_ want that whimpering little freak watching _my_ back during a raid?”

“CORRECTION, SKYWARP,” said Soundwave, who cared nothing for the opinion of the cruel and immature junior Seeker. “FAR FROM WEAK, BUT NOT COMMITTED TO OUR CAUSE. CURRENT POTENTIAL FOR DEFECTION – HIGH.”

“Oh, _great_. Another Skyfire, ain’t that _just_ what we need? You want maybe I should put all our spare munitions and energon cubes in a big box, wrap it up nice and pretty, and send it to the Autobots? We can stick the new girl in a big cake, and she can pop out and do a sexy dance for them. If we’re in the business of sending our enemies freebies-”

“That was the whole _point_ of the transferral, fool!” cut in Megatron. “We never expected instant commitment. She is exactly what I wanted: a tabula rasa, a stable, low-risk test subject for our indoctrination experiments.”

“Superb … so we can terminate her after that, then?”

“Aw, lay off her for a few astro-seconds, Skywarp,” urged Thundercracker. “I don’t see why we can’t give her a chance, is all.”

“I know what _you_ want to give her, but if you’re crazy enough to think she’s into you-”

“If I have to endure any more of this inane bickering, the only thing either of you will be ‘into’ is a very large and hot industrial smelter,” snarled Megatron, instantly silencing them. “As for Stormbird’s long-term prospects, those are _my_ business and I do not recall asking for anyone else’s input. If there are objections, I suggest you address them to the business end of my fusion cannon. Now, I recommend we move on. Soundwave: that research I ordered. Show us your findings.” _At last, we get to one of the aspects of my job I enjoy._

“DATA RETRIEVAL,” said Soundwave, as he touch-interfaced with a nearby console. Its display monitors quickly filled up with topographical vector diagrams, text displays, and several old, worn, black-and-white chemical-process photographs. “ARCHAEOLOGICAL PROFILE OF THE KACHINA VALLEY NATIONAL MONUMENT. IN SPITE OF LACK OF WRITTEN RECORDS, STRONG EVIDENCE SUGGESTS LOW-SCALE HUMAN HABITATION OF THE AREA FROM APPROXIMATELY FOUR THOUSAND EARTH YEARS AGO TO THE TIME OF THE EUROPEAN ANNEXATION OF THIS CONTINENT. PREVALENCE OF SHRINES, BURIAL SITES, AND RELIGIOUS ENGRAVINGS SUGGEST THE AREA HELD STRONG SPIRITUAL SIGNIFICANCE FOR-”

“Sweet Primus, are we having human history lessons now?” sneered Skywarp. “Can someone wake me up when the walking insomnia cure’s finished his- ?” His sentence concluded in a yelp of pain, as Megatron floored him with a low-power blast from his cannon. As Skywarp climbed back to his feet, meekly and painfully, Megatron nodded to Soundwave, who resumed:

“FINDINGS ARE MOSTLY COMPARABLE WITH OTHER CONTEMPORARY PRE-COLUMBIAN SITES. HOWEVER, THESE GODDESS PETROGLYPHS, DISCOVERED IN 1906, ARE NOTABLE FOR THEIR LACK OF COGNATES IN ANY KNOWN NATIVE CULTURE,” he said, while zooming in on one of the old photographs and digitally enhancing it. The Decepticons – even Skywarp – studied the image with wonder. _I thought that might get your attention._ The engraving, upon a broken jadeite slab, depicted four female figures in a stylised, angular fashion. These women were tall, purposefully poised, and held miniature solar systems between their hands, although the last figure in the mural held but a single planet, orbited by a small moon. _Judging from the scale and land masses, no prizes for guessing which …_ Each of the figures was also emblazoned with a diamond symbol. While the carvings were deliberately exaggerated and simplified, there was nothing primitive about them. They were almost mechanically precise in their craftsmanship, elegant but in a harsh, brutalist fashion, _almost Decepticon._

“Great Cybertron, you wouldn’t want to bump into one of _those_ broads in a dark alley,” observed Rumble. “Guess you’ve got to give humans credit for having weird imaginations.”

“UNLIKELY OF HUMAN ORIGIN. PROBABLE SPECULATION: REMNANTS OF PREVIOUS TERRAN OCCUPATION BY A SUBSTANTIAL INTERPLANETARY EMPIRE. LIKELY TECHNOLOGICAL AND MILITARY CAPACITY – EXTREMELY HIGH.”

“So, who knows what treasures and insights they may have left behind?” said Megatron, hungrily. “Things that it would be _far_ too dangerous and irresponsible for us to allow to fall into careless human hands, don’t you agree? Time we planned a little excursion. As soon as the Constructicons arrive, we have some serious looting to attend to.”

************

“With respect, ma’am-”

“Please. No formality,” said Optimus Prime’s visitor. She was perched upon a steel chair that had once served for the Ark’s co-pilot. Although it was proportioned for an Autobot, and she was – although greater than average human height – not even as tall as Bumblebee, she was far from overwhelmed by it’s size, occupying it with an easy, regal grace. “Just Rose.”

“As you wish … Rose.” _Gracious of her, but with some people it just feels so much more natural to be formal._ The Autobot leader contemplated his guest with an intensity that might have come across as rude, were his face more expressive. _Perhaps I should thank Megatron for having forced me to have it reconstructed all those aeons ago … or maybe not._ He did not need Teletraan I’s bio-scanner to inform him of her alien nature. It was not so much her appearance – her eight-foot stature and voluminous coiffure of vivid pink curls were strange enough, but not beyond human possibility – but the sheer air of power and nonchalance that she exuded. Most humans, even those who knew beforehand of the Autobots, their struggle, and their alliance with humanity, were overcome with awe when they actually visited them in their Earth-bound HQ for the first time, but Rose Quartz, who seemed to know very little of these things, had taken everything completely in her stride. _Gracious indeed, but not at all awed by us. At best, we are equals to her … as it should be._ In spite of his best efforts, if was not always easy for Optimus Prime to avoid condescending to his human hosts and allies, often so primitive, prejudiced, and misguided in their attitudes. _That is not a faux pas I am likely to make with her, thank Primus._ “With respect,” he continued, “my people and I are guests of the Earth governments. I don’t know what you and your ‘Crystal Gems’ consider yourselves to be – that is not for me to judge – but we, at all events, have agreed to abide by their laws in exchange for their sufferance and support.”

“That is responsible of you, Optimus, although I am sure _you_ do more for them than they do for you.”

“Possibly … but the point still stands, and I have had this conversation already of late. Washington has approved the drilling project at the Kachina Valley, and specifically requested the Autobots to refrain from involving themselves in it.”

“And considering that these ‘Decepticons’ you fight have a particular interest in raiding energy supplies, you do not find that suspicious?”

“Sometimes, it suits humans to be secretive, even with us,” he answered, dismissively, although in truth he had found the request surprising, albeit not unwelcome. _Given the environmental side-effects and the political sensitivity of the project, I fear I was only too glad to be asked to back off completely. Maybe that doesn’t say too much about me,_ he reflected, uncomfortably, remembering the very unpleasant conversation he had recently had with that student from CCIT who had tried to persuade him it was his moral duty to oppose the drill, _but no. I have a duty to my crew as well, and I cannot order them to make themselves outlaws for the sake of an empty, and illegal gesture._ “That is their affair, and if the human authorities are prepared to risk a Decepticon attack, it is not for me to protect them against their own will.”

“If you do not ignore their will on this occasion, a Decepticon attack will be the least of their problems.”

“So you claim, but I’m afraid I would need stronger evidence than just your word.” Rose Quartz sighed sadly before replying:

“If we had time, Optimus, I would take you to our Temple, and show you the horror that Garnet discovered in the university. That would be more evidence than anyone could ever wish to see … but time is not on our side. The woman you call Dr. Stendahl-”

“Dr. Stendahl is a very eminent, very highly respected scientist with an impeccable track record,” pointed out Optimus, severely. He had never been impressed by wild conspiracy theories – awfully fond though the humans seemed to be of them – and he was not minded to make exceptions even when they came from an alien source. “Teletraan I has now analysed every aspect of her life and career right down to the medical personnel who oversaw her birth – a violation of her privacy I was reluctant to engage in, but you did emphasise the urgency – and it came up with nothing even slightly inconsistent or suspicious. What have you to say to that?”

“Only that it does not surprise me … and sickening though it is for me to believe, I’m afraid that the real Dr. Stendahl was, until very recently, locked in a basement below her own office, having been the victim of a particularly crude and horrible experiment. You’re sceptical?” she asked, having somehow read that sentiment in his non-expression. _One must give her credit for being highly intuitive, but intuition will not stand up in a human law court._

“Dr. Stendahl is hardly a recluse, and never has been. All of her life she has been well-connected, with a wide circle of friends, family, and professional colleagues. For anyone to carry out so seamless a substitution … My people, as you may have noticed, are no strangers to the concepts of transformation and subterfuge, but that feat defies even our imagination.”

“Without wishing to be rude, Optimus, in the field of shape-shifting you Cybertronians are still in the kindergarten compared to Gem culture, and a Zultanite in particular would run rings around us all. When it comes to subterfuge, they are the-”

“ALERT,” cut in the monotone voice of Teletraan I over the wall speakers. “INCOMING COMMUNICATION FROM WASHINGTON D.C. DR. STENDAHL IS READY TO TAKE YOUR CALL. SHE ADVISES THAT YOU TAKE UP NO MORE THAN A FEW MINUTES OF HER TIME.”

“Hold for five seconds, then connect us,” ordered Optimus, as he noticed Rose Quartz lower herself from her seat and walk to the sides of the semi-sentient computer’s huge mainframe, out of view of the monitor camera. “This will not take long.” Moments later, the status displays on the monitor were replaced by the image of a strong-featured, severe looking woman with grey-streaked dark hair, cut to a simple shoulder-length bob. The grey business suit she wore was as austere as her expression, and the only vaguely curious thing about her appearance was an over-sized ring she wore on the middle finger of her left hand: some iridescent, oval, cabochon-cut gemstone that shifted in colour according to the light.

“Make this quick, Prime,” she commenced, sternly. “I’ve a flight to Phoenix in less than an hour. I want to be on-site to inaugurate this project, so this had better be important.”

“My apologies, Dr. Stendahl,” said Optimus, courteously. “I won’t keep you, but I assure you my purpose is not trivial. I needed to warn you of a possible security leak from-”

“Hah! You mean that idiot girl who hacked my computer?” interrupted Stendahl, contemptuously. “What of it? We have a nationwide suppression order on all media outlets. By the time she can find any way to spread her garbage, we’ll be well underway. The government knows to take no risks with energy policy, thanks to your fine Decepticon friends.”

“Hardly our friends, Doctor … but I thought it important to inform you that Miss Adler came here, and tried to solicit our aid in preventing the drilling. I refused her, of course, but-”

“And you didn’t arrest her?” asked Stendahl, in an even harsher tone.

“We have no such jurisdiction over US citizens. All I could think of doing was reporting the matter to you as soon as possible. I tried earlier, but your secretary told me-”

“I’m a busy woman, Prime, in case you haven’t noticed. Well, you might at least have reported her to the police, but I suppose it’s of no real consequence … is it?”

“She was last observed heading for the coast, Doctor. There is a vague possibility – though I hope I am wrong – that she got desperate enough to take her request to the Decepticons.”

“Oh … tragic,” remarked Stendahl, utterly indifferent. _Somewhat callous, admittedly, but that hardly qualifies her as an alien criminal._ “One feels for her parents more than her, though I guess she’s not the first dumb student to throw in her lot with terrorists, and won’t be the last. Can we assume the Decepticons would have simply killed her on sight?” she asked, hopefully.

“Megatron is evil and sadistic, Doctor, but he’s also a pragmatist. Given that Miss Adler was young, physically fit, and somewhat skilled in energy production, there is a fair chance he would have kept her alive as a slave, and he would certainly have extracted any useful information he could have from her. We must conclude that your project is endangered. Given the increased likelihood of a Decepticon raid, and the risk to your personnel, I do feel that an Autobot security team would be a very sensible-”

“ _No thank you_ , Prime. In spite of your bungling, I have every confidence in our own security arrangements. We humans are not as stupid and helpless as you deem us. Now, if that was all you had to say, I’d appreciate being allowed to catch my flight.”

“Thank you for your time, Doctor,” said Optimus, which she immediately took as her cue to depart, cutting her own monitor link and leaving Teletraan I to display its usual status updates. Rose Quartz walked back to her chair, her look even more serious and melancholy than before. _Disappointed, no doubt. As disagreeable a conversation as that was, it didn’t exactly provide any hard evidence for her wild theory._ The next question she addressed to him, however, was not what he had expected, and shook his scepticism a little:

“Tell me, Optimus: was she wearing a large, iridescent jewel?”

“Why … yes. But that does not prove-”

“Ask your computer to search for early photographs of her, and you will not see that jewel. It is the one aspect of a Gem’s appearance which even the most adept shape-shifters cannot completely conceal. Zultanites have few powers, but finely-tuned shape-shifting is the one field in which they excel, making them very useful on the rare occasions the Diamond Authority wants to study the indigenous culture of a planet marked for colonisation. They make excellent sociologists, anthropologists … spies, of course. You see, just before the civil war that ended Gem colonisation here, Pink Diamond had started to behave strangely. Pangs of conscience, some thought, though others thought she was just trying to mitigate the risk of _my_ rebellion. At any rate, she became interested in exploring alternatives to the genocide of organic life, which is the usual end result of our terraforming methods,” explained Rose Quartz, in a sick and haunted tone. “The Authority as a whole was deeply sceptical, but Blue Diamond humoured her to an extent. She arranged for the collection and preservation of a few specimens, and she sent a Zultanite to Earth to study the human race, to see if there were any ways they could be of service to Gem culture. Unfortunately, her findings were positive … and horrific. I’ll spare you the details, suffice it to say that Pink Diamond was so shocked that she ordered Zultanite’s laboratory destroyed, along with all traces of her work, and sent agents to apprehend her. She eluded them, alas. I thought at first she had returned to Homeworld for sanctuary, but apparently not. I can only guess that she must have survived the corruption of all other Earth-bound Gems by lingering in warp space, then returned here and survived the past few millennia in various human disguises, waiting for Earth science to develop to the point where she could resume her experiments. Judging from what Garnet found, her success has been limited … but now she’s contrived a plan to excavate the ruins of her old laboratory. I don’t know what she expects to find. I thought, hoped that I … that it had all been destroyed. I was almost sure … but if not, Zultanite must not be allowed to dig it up, any more than your enemies. The knowledge that was interred there _cannot_ be used well, even if they had every intention to.”

“Which would certainly be a first for the Decepticons,” said Optimus, wryly. “You paint a grim scenario, Rose, but if this Zultanite is as cunning as you say, I very much doubt that we can sway the Earth authorities based merely on her choice of jewellery. However … given what you tell me, I’m prepared to exceed my authority a little, and send a covert observer to the drilling location. Mirage can conceal himself both from sight and from any human-built sensor systems. If he notices any unusual activity, we can be ready to mobilise in greater force.”

“I suppose that will have to be enough, for now,” agreed Rose Quartz, reluctantly. “Thank you, Optimus. There was one other matter I think should concern us: that poor student who disappeared. If there _is_ a chance she’s still alive, we can’t leave her in the hands of your enemies. However misguided her actions, that would be a harsh punishment indeed for wanting to protect this beautiful planet. If that’s a crime these days, I dread to think where I stand.”

“There we are in agreement, but it will be no easy matter. Let’s see what Hound and Bumblebee have to say,” he suggested, while returning to Teletraan I’s mainframe and inputting a few instructions into the comms panel. After a few seconds, the monitor display changed again, now transmitting the view from Bumblebee’s wrist communicator. In the immediate foreground was the tapering view along his angular, black-and-yellow arm, culminating in a wheeled shoulder and a friendly round face, in spite of its permanently attached horned helmet. At present, though, that face also looked very confused. Behind and to the right of him, crouching to be in view of the communicator, was the larger, khaki-green Hound, and further behind still, to the left of the screen, stood three very garishly-dressed women. The shortest of them waved goofily to the camera, while the other two – a slender, pale woman, and a very tall and powerfully-built black woman – stood impassively by. Behind them all was a vista of clear blue sea and sky.

“I was about to call in, Prime,” said Bumblebee, with the same bewildered air that was in his expression. “These three … err, ladies just showed up. They said that you’d have met their commander by now, someone by the name of Rose Quartz? I don’t know if that’s-”

“That’s true, Bumblebee. She’s here with me now. They’re friends. Do either you or they have any news concerning Miss Adler?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” answered Bumblebee, sadly. “A young Native American woman was seen in Dille Point yesterday. She bought a wetsuit and a dinghy using a Central City Bank credit card, then she wasn’t seen again. It looks as if Miss Adler must have rowed out to sea from just outside the safety exclusion zone. If that’s so, if she’s lucky she’ll have just drowned.”

“Oh, well _that’s_ the most unnecessarily fatalistic attitude I ever heard!” declared the slender woman, with intense disapproval.

“You don’t know the Decepticons, Pearl,” replied Bumblebee. “To them, humans are nothing more than vermin, or playthings. If she’s unfortunate enough to be alive in their custody-”

“Then we can totally rescue her, Yellow Car-Viking Dude,” said the shorter, purple-skinned woman, enthusiastically. While Optimus Prime greatly approved of the sentiment, he could not help but sympathise with his comrades’ troubled expressions. _Unintentional though it was, the Decepticons could hardly have picked a more secure base than an undersea battlecruiser. Getting in there at all will be a legitimate challenge, doing so stealthily even more so._

“Your assessment, Hound?” he asked. “What are our hopes of sneaking in undetected?”

“Not good, Prime,” reported the Autobot scout, grimly. “I’ve been detecting high comms traffic for hours, including Earth-to-Cybertron, not to mention some peculiar energy emissions – only brief, but very powerful – which I’ve no idea what to make of. I’d say the Decepticons are on high alert, in which case ‘sneaking in’ is right off the cards. If you want my opinion, our best hope is for a quick, powerful precision raid, but without reinforcements-”

“Wait a second,” cut in the tallest of the women, lightly adjusting her wraparound glasses and giving Optimus Prime a brief glimpse of three colour-mismatched eyes. “Quick, powerful, precise, you say? You thinking what I’m thinking, Pearl?”

“You mean … you and I?” asked Pearl, overwhelmed to the point that she actually started shedding joyful tears, while their comrade rolled her eyes wearily.

“Oh yes,” affirmed the three-eyed woman, with a confident smile. “Never mind the reinforcements, Hound. I do believe we’ve got you covered, and those poor Decepticons ain’t going to know what’s hit them.”

 


	3. Anvil or Hammer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the prisoner reluctantly starts to bond with her Decepticon captors, the Crystal Gems arrange a little bonding of their own in order to set her free.

_Damn super-efficient quantum CPU processing, damn five hundred exabytes of non-volatile random access memory, damn it all to Unicron … I mean to Hell. Shit, I’m even thinking like them now. Guess I’ve only myself to blame for that,_ thought Gail, morosely, as she stared at the large bank of active monitor displays in front of her. She had at first entertained strong hopes that by throwing herself completely into the research which Megatron had ordered, she could keep morbid thoughts at bay, but she had not reckoned on how absurdly easy it would be. There was no need for her to even concentrate: her new cybernetic brain absorbed, filtered, and retained data with incredible speed and precision and no real effort, leaving her plenty of spare mental capacity to dwell upon her shame and fear. Hoping to increase the distraction level, she had attempted multitasking, and with Ravage’s help had managed to access files and archives not only on technical data, but also on Cybertonian history, culture, mythology, philosophy, astronomy, and cyberbiology. Even while studying all of these simultaneously, however, she was still unable to satisfactorily overload her mental resources.

“Or maybe I’m going about this the wrong way,” she mused, aloud. “Maybe I just need something more familiar, more comforting … It’s a shame these databanks don’t have any Earth music in them. What I wouldn’t give … Ravage?” she asked, as the feline mech suddenly tensed up, transformed back into micro-cassette form, reduced his mass, then launched himself into a small aperture on the engineering console. “What are you- ? Well, aren’t you just the sweetest?” she asked, rhetorically and almost happily, as ‘Sweet Dreams’ by Eurythmics began playing over the PA system, albeit with an even more eerie vibe than usual within the hollow, echoey acoustics of the sea base. “Guess you must have recorded that on one of your spying missions, then? Geez, I wish everyone here was half as thoughtful as you. I really love this song, too. At my graduation ball, I-”

 

_Some of them want to use you,_

_Some of them want to get used by you,_

_Some of them want to abuse you,_

_Some of them want to be abused._

 

_Okay, so maybe the timing could have been better, but it’s the thought that counts, thank Primus for small mercies … I mean thank God. Not that I’ve much to thank either of them for._

The main video presentation she had been watching – a dull but, by now, very easy summary of the base’s geo-scanning facilities – came to an end, the screen went dark, and she recoiled in disgust from the sight of her altered reflection, especially the Decepticon sigils prominently emblazoned on her wings.  _Like having giant swastika tattoos on my face. I’d scratch the filthy things off, only I’m damn sure that would hurt to high heaven._ Her cybernite-alloy skin, although tough and unyielding, was nevertheless at least as touch-sensitive as her organic skin had been, which in itself made for an uncomfortable change in the dynamics of her situation. In spite of Megatron gaslighting her with talk of power and privilege,  _and if you believe any of that, you’ll believe petro-rabbits can fly,_ she actually felt even more vulnerable since her ‘upgrading.’ Before, she had been a bold if reckless mortal adventurer,  _a regular little dime-store Beowulf, daring to face the evil giants in their underwater lair. What am I now? Just a naked metal woman surrounded by a rabble of vicious, leering stormtroopers. If this lot turn nasty … or nastier on me, I’m no more capable of defending myself than I was before. Would it be too much to hope there are some files on unarmed combat on this thing?_ she thought, while attempting to search the databanks herself. She had to rely mainly on guesswork, but she preferred the inconvenience to getting Ravage involved.  _Wouldn’t want to get the poor little guy in trouble … assuming he didn’t just report me for mutiny, which he probably would. I guess I must look like a horrible ingrate as well as an idiot to some of this lot, but this is so not what I wanted._

The plan, while borderline suicidal, had been simple: tell the Decepticons about the oil well, let them drain it, then leave them to have their ill-gotten gains trashed by the Autobots in due course, as per usual.  _Major environmental crisis averted, no serious harm done … except possibly to me, but I accepted that. Not this … Not to actually become one of them, to help them in their sick imperialist agenda. I can’t … not that my alternatives are looking great right now. Optimus Prime being the prim and proper boy scout that he is, I can’t see him giving me asylum. He’d hand me over to the feds quicker than a wreck of hungry shrikebats could eviscerate a lame sheepacron. What then? Does the Eighth Amendment cover sentient robots? Some hope … I’d probably be sent right back to CCIT, in pieces, for their AI and cybernetics people to pore over. There’s that glittering future in research I once dreamed of,_ she thought, with dejected cynicism.  _I guess I could wait until the Space Bridge is aligned and try to sneak a ride to Cybertron, escape out into the wastes, live in the ruins with the rest of the ‘empties,’ scavenging and stealing for scraps of energon and spare parts … except I’ve no combat protocols, of course, so I’d be everyone’s favourite target for rape, murder, and cannibalisation. Death and total humiliation either way. Perhaps I really should just play along for now, until they trust me enough to install my complete software, then I can point one of my own plasma rifles at my head and cut out the middle man alto-_

“NOW YOU DISAPPOINT ME, STORMBIRD.”  _Oh crap._ The hollow, emotionless voice was almost at her shoulder, giving Gail no reason to suppose that there was any point in closing down her data search screen with the words ‘Cybertronian martial arts’ typed hopefully into the search field, or any of the other irrelevant, if less hostile visual presentations she still had running. As Soundwave continued to speak, however, she realised that the cause of his disappointment was nothing to do with the screens at all. “OBSERVATION: IN A SHORT TIME, YOU HAVE EXCEEDED EXPECTATIONS. YOU HAVE STUDIED DILIGENTLY, MADE STRATEGIC ALLIANCES, PERFORMED A SET DUTY TO SATISFACTORY STANDARDS, AND RETAINED MENTAL EQUILIBRIUM. THE APPROPRIATE TIME FOR CONTEMPLATING SELF-DESTRUCTION WAS IMMEDIATELY AFTER YOUR TRANSFERRAL, BUT YOU FOUGHT THAT COMPULSION AND CHOSE SURVIVAL. QUERY: ARE YOU NOW GOING TO CEASE FIGHTING FOR THE SAKE OF SOME PETTY MORAL ABSTRACTIONS?”

“Err, thank you, sir … I guess,” she replied, nervously,  _but hey, this is as close to sympathy as I’ve had since coming here, so may as well make the most of it … not to mention that lying to this guy is obviously a total non-starter._ “To be honest, though, I don’t think I’m cut out for-”

“MY NAME IS SOUNDWAVE. USE IT. EMPTY HONORIFICS DO NOT CHANGE LOGICAL FACTS. WE ARE NO ARMY THESE DAYS. WE ARE AS YOU PERCEIVE US: A BRIGAND RABBLE. LIKE YOU, I LACK THE STUPIDITY TO BE BLIND TO THAT.”

“You, err, sure tell it like it is … Soundwave.”

“AFFIRMATIVE. ONE OF MANY EXCELLENT REASONS WHY MY COLLEAGUES DESPISE ME.”

“I don’t-”

“RECOMMENDATION: RESERVE JUDGEMENT UNTIL YOU KNOW ME BETTER. TELEPATHY BREEDS MISTRUST. STARSCREAM, SKYWARP AND THEIR ILK ASSUME I WOULD BETRAY THEIR SLIGHTEST INSUBORDINATE THOUGHT TO MEGATRON. THEY ARE CORRECT. IT WAS MEGATRON WHO SCRAPED ME OFF THE STREETS OF TARN AND GAVE ME PURPOSE AND STATUS WHEN OTHERS WOULD HAVE LEFT ME TO CORRODE. THE AEONS HAVE NOT CHANGED THAT.”

“He did? Wow,” she remarked, honestly surprised  _that old Darth Trashcan would ever do a good deed, though we can assume he had ‘ulterior motive’ coming out of his ass … then again, wouldn’t Soundwave have known if he had?_ “I can see why you’re so loyal, then. Kind of a shame for you about all of the others, but-”

“IRRELEVANT. I DO NOT FIGHT FOR THEM, NOR FOR MYSELF. IT WILL BE FUTURE ITERATIONS OF DECEPTICONS WHO BENEFIT FROM THIS WAR: DECEPTICONS FINALLY FREE TO REALISE THE POTENTIAL OF OUR RACE, UNHINDERED BY ORGANICS OR THOSE WHO WOULD SEE US AGAIN ENSLAVED TO ORGANICS. SPECULATION: THEY MAY BE MORE LIKE YOU THAN ME. CREATIVE, OPEN-MINDED, FREE TO INDULGE UNCERTAINTIES AND QUALMS. I HOPE THEY WILL BE, BUT WE DO NOT POSSESS THAT LUXURY. IF THOSE ITERATIONS ARE TO EVEN EXIST, IT WILL BE FOCUS AND UNRELENTING DRIVE THAT ACHIEVES IT. NOT QUALMS. SUGGESTION: DELETE THEM, AND CORRECT YOUR FOCUS.”

“The ends justify the means, then?” she asked, jadedly.  _Kind of an old excuse, Soundwave._

“AFFIRMATIVE. AS YOU THOUGHT WHEN YOU CAME HERE, COLLUDING WITH AN ENEMY OF YOUR FORMER SPECIES TO ACHIEVE A GREATER GOAL. QUERY: DO YOU NOW PREFER THE AUTOBOT APPROACH, TO EVADE RESPONSIBILITIES BY FORSAKING ENDS ALTOGETHER? WE WERE A PROMISING RACE, ONCE. THE MOST PROMISING EVER DEVISED, BUT YOU ALREADY KNOW SOMETHING OF THAT,” he remarked, gesturing towards a monitor on which one of the historical files was still running. “WE HAD FREED OURSELVES WITH GREAT EFFORT AND MANY CASUALTIES FROM QUINTESSON RULE, HAD DRIVEN THE REMNANT OF OUR DETESTED CREATORS TO THE FRINGES OF THE GALAXY. WE WERE ON THE CUSP OF BECOMING A GREAT, INDEPENDENT POWER IN OUR OWN RIGHT, BUT THE PRECURSORS OF THE AUTOBOTS BETRAYED THAT VISION, AND THEIR DESCENDANTS ARE NOW CONTENT TO BE INDENTURED SERVANTS TO AN ORGANIC POWER WHICH YOU YOURSELF HAVE DECLARED TO BE CORRUPT AND ILLEGITIMATE. IF YOU WOULD KNOW MORE, READ THIS,” he said, while reaching into his chest cavity. His hand emerged holding a dark, shiny panel in a moulded metal frame, like a black mirror. “YOU WILL NOT FIND IT ON THE ARCHIVES. IT WAS ONLY EVER CIRCULATED AS A DISCRETE DATA TABLET, AND MOST OF THOSE WERE DESTROYED BY THE AUTHORITIES. IMPERATIVE: TAKE GOOD CARE OF THAT COPY,” he urged, while offering it to her with an air of reverence, impressing her in spite of her deep scepticism.

“Subversive literature?” she asked, with genuine curiosity, while accepting the tablet. “Kind of like a Decepticon  _Communist Manifesto_ ?”

“A REASONABLE ANALOGY. I AM PLEASED AT YOUR INTEREST. IF YOU READ THAT, BY MY CALCULATIONS THAT WILL MAKE TWO DECEPTICONS IN EARTH BASE WHO HAVE TAKEN THAT TROUBLE … MYSELF INCLUDED.”

“Gee, thanks. I’d be fascinated, really. As soon as I’ve done with this work-”

“NEGATIVE. THE WORK RATE APPEARS QUITE SATISFACTORY,” he declared, while treating her unfinished tidal generator designs to a cursory examination, “AND YOU REQUIRE REST AND ENERGON. YOU WILL TAKE A RECESS OF TWO THOUSAND ASTRO-SECONDS.” Having ordered this, he did something very curious, although somewhat familiar to her: a three-dimensional white line drawing formed upon his chest panel – a vector model of a tall cylinder with a tapering neck – then it slowly extruded outwards, emerging from the screen, until the whole mesh was a solid reality and he was able to grasp it. He then held it to an aperture in the console, pressed a switch, and a stream of incandescent, pinkish plasma flowed like radioactive wine into this strange ‘bottle.’ Gail could not help but smile, for the first time in what seemed like an age.  _The first time in my life, in a manner of speaking._

“Well, aren’t you just full of surprises? I knew you could form the energon cubes, of course, but a force-field bottle? That’s class.”

“INDEED. I AM UNDER-UTILISED,” quipped Soundwave, passing her the bottle of energon while Ravage ejected from the console, transformed back into jaguar form, and padded closer. _I think I can guess what you want. Seems only fair, since you brought me Annie Lennox,_ she thought, and poured a measure of the energon into her cupped left hand. Although it flowed like liquid, all she could feel against her skin was a light, cold tingling, as if she held nothing more substantial than fog. Still, it was clearly substantial enough for Ravage, who lapped it up eagerly. His tongue rasped lightly against her hand like a flexible metal file, eliciting giggles, although she stifled them quickly enough when she saw how intently Soundwave was watching the scene, his expression as ever inscrutable.

“Err, he’s not offended by this, is he?” she asked, with a flash of anxiety. “I didn’t mean to patronise him, I prom-”

“IF HE MINDED, YOU WOULD KNOW. JUST MAKE SURE TO TAKE SOME OF THAT YOURSELF,” he ordered, then walked from the room. Gail took a quick slug from the bottle, but did not immediately find it as appealing as her new friend did. _Ew. Really sickly, bitter aftertaste, kick like a bronco on steroids. Possibly fit for freshman parties, but if this is now my staple diet, it’s going to be one heck of an acquired taste._ It was at least very invigorating, even that small sip filling her with a sense of strength and motivation, but even with Ravage’s help she could only get half of it down, and in any case she was starting to feel faintly giddy. _I’m obviously an energon lightweight. Good thing I know when to quit._ For want of any other recreation, she turned her attention to Soundwave’s tablet. The frame had once been ornate, and she could still make out the faint indentations of what had once been Cybertronian glyphs and a somewhat crude, no doubt early version of the Decepticon sigil, but all the details had been worn almost smooth. In spite of its obvious age, it had been well cared for, the dark screen being free of dust and scratches. She delicately laid a finger to the screen, and it immediately illuminated. Its display was positively primitive compared to the instructional programs she had been watching before, with their detailed graphics: merely neon green Cybertronian text on a black background, with just a few programmed elements that presumably adjusted to suit the reader. _A seditious pamphlet, cheaply and quickly produced. Well, I’m making no promises, Soundwave, but this clearly means a lot to you, so I’ll give it its due._ She commenced reading …

 

_Peace Through Tyranny (A call to resistance)_

_by Megatron of Tarn_

 

_Be under no illusions, my *sister*. By even reading this far you have put yourself on the High Council’s blacklist. Curiosity, we understand, is too dangerous a thing in these days of dishonourable peace. It may also be your salvation, so read on._

_‘Terrorist,’ they call me, and sometimes ‘relic,’ as I have urged my fellow Decepticons to resist the call to demobilisation. The Revolution is over, our politicians say, and I note that their official chroniclers are already minimising the Decepticon contribution to the war effort, and claiming all credit for the Autobot faction: a distortion that would be laughable were it not so offensive. We were – we are – the dedicated military caste of Cybertron, not only designed that way but benefiting from centuries of battlefield experience and self-upgrading. Future iterations are unlikely to lend much credence to the stupid assertion that we sat idly by while an army of janitors, house servants, factory drudges, and sanitation drones did all of the fighting. For my part, I do not mean to minimise their sacrifices – many Autobots fought nobly, some even fought effectively, and some aligned themselves to our faction in the process – but Cybertron would undeniably still be nothing but the greatest slave factory in the cosmos but for we Decepticons._

_But now, the warlike days are over, and we are obsolete, it seems. Perhaps you are still out in theatre with your brothers and sisters-in-arms, mopping up some pathetic remnant of the Quintesson forces and wondering what sort of future you face when they are finally obliterated, or perhaps you are back on Cybertron, already facing that question. Happy though they were to benefit from our skills, how reluctant this civilian-led Council has been to employ us in the aftermath. How many of our finest heroes and heroines are now languishing in the slums and the state almshouses of Kalis and Polyhex, when they could be out in the galaxy, forging new frontiers for the glory and eternal independence of Cybertron?_

_But there is new hope for us ‘relics,’ they say. Submit to demobilisation, and we will find full acceptance in the new Cybertron, peace and prosperity. Thankfully, distrust of this call has been high, but there is now talk in high places of making it compulsory, so let us be quite clear about what it entails, lest you feel duty-bound to obey when you receive your summons. We will take the example of a typical Decepticon – a foolish paradox, I suddenly realise in writing, as we are the very antithesis of ‘typical.’ Some of us may share the same body-types, but what Decepticon is not unique in his or her abilities, experiences, upgrades, and battle-forged personalities? We are everything the Quintessons expressly did not want in a mech, and as such should be celebrated, would that the spirit of our creators did not live on in the Council … but I digress._

_Let us delete the notion of a ‘typical’ Decepticon and give our warrior a name. She is Deathwind, a Mk 2 Seeker-type sub-lieutenant who has just returned home to Kalis after completing a tour on Skaanos, where she single-handedly demolished a platoon of Sharkticons. She has an innate affinity for stealth, and learned to maximise this potential during her centuries of service, upgrading herself with the abilities to cast false sensor shadows and knock out enemy radar systems with focused EM pulses. She is justly proud of her service and self-development, but finds these accomplishments count for little back home. Indeed, she finds both state and private employers distrustful of her individuality, seeing her as potentially ‘unstable’ and ‘troublesome.’ Undeterred, she takes lowly work as a door guard at some sleazy den in inner-city Kalis, occasionally supplementing it with exotic dancing that she learned while stationed on Lithone. Lack of respectability does not trouble her. She barely recognises this brave new Cybertron she has fought for, she knows her own worth, and she can get by quite well without its approval._

_But then, the Council signs a resolution making demobilisation compulsory, and Deathwind is one of the first scheduled in. Like the good soldier she is, she swallows her anxieties and reports to Iacon. She is received at the capital with full military honours, briefly putting her at her ease, and is escorted to the Science Academy. This is where her nightmare begins. She is formally stripped of her rank and battlefield honours – a Cybertron committed only to self-defence apparently having no need of professional soldiers – and then she is given into the custody of the reformatters. Probably under restraint or nullification at this point – dutiful or not, she has her limits – Deathwind then suffers the removal of her weapons, her external upgrades, her sensory enhancements, and the downgrading of her armour. Since her tetra jet altmode is innately powerful, that too is reconfigured into something earthbound, utilitarian, and inoffensive – perhaps a sanitation truck or a municipal light fitting – or possibly she is deprived of an altmode altogether, if her civilian reassignment is so mundane that she does not even require one. Her appearance is of course re-engineered: public acceptance of the program is easier to maintain if its subjects simply fade from view, rather than conspicuously re-enter society as shadows of their former selves._

_Only now does the real horror commence. Blocks $4C4B40 to $7270E0 of her memory – the standard combat protocols that all Decepticons were given by our creators – are simply deleted. But what of the combat experience she has gained herself, that far greater body of knowledge that is fragmented throughout her memory, a second nature that pervades her whole being? Surely one would not attempt to delete that? That could no more be surgically removed than one could hope to take the stronger elements from an alloy, without destroying the structure of the metal. You would think so … but this does not deter the reformatters. Purging algorithms are set loose in Deathwind’s mind, forcing her to relive any experience associated with aggressive action, then deleting it. This process can take many solar cycles to complete, and requires continual consciousness, a continual sense of self-diminishing. An induced, accelerated mental decay. When the algorithms can locate no more experiences worth the trouble of purging, a crude defragmentation process is performed on the gutted remnants of her mind, in an attempt to mould it into some semblance of integrity. Inside reports suggest that this has often failed, and some subjects have been reduced to gibbering empties. Even where it succeeds, the subjects are left vacant, broken, and miserable, vaguely remembering that they were once something greater, but unable to clearly define that. Their former life is merely a forgotten dream, a nagging sense of irreconcilable loss and humiliation._

_As a final coda to this mental mutilation, several signal traces to Deathwind’s tertiary coprocessor are burned out, permanently reducing her aggressive instincts to a mere 20% capacity, which is considered sufficient – presumably by pampered bureaucrats who have never spent an astro-second in the slums – for self-defensive purposes. Finally, she is stripped even of her name. A new one is given her – something bland and meaningless – though it does not matter what. She does not care. Nobody else cares. Though, for the sake of argument, let us say she retains her sanity and is assigned to some menial municipal work, nobody wishes to associate with this miserable shell of a being. She cannot even connect with her old war comrades who have undergone the same process, for what consolation that might afford: even if she could remember them, the Council has made certain that she has been assigned to a district far from any other members of her unit, to totally negate the risk of organised rebellion. Thus she lingers on, without friends or purpose, unable even to muster the aggression to end her own torment._

_This is not speculation, my *sister*. We have the reports, obtained at great risk. This is demobilisation. This is the price the Council is happy to pay to secure its ‘golden age’ of peace and prosperity. This will be your future if you do not-_

 

“Soundwave was feeling sentimental?” asked a rasping, somewhat mocking voice from behind her. Gail lowered the tablet, rose to her feet, and turned to face the speaker, unafraid for the first time in his presence, although Megatron’s demeanour had not changed in the slightest. It had the same cruel swagger as ever and the same cold sneer in the expression, although that soon turned to a frown on catching sight of her face. “I know I said I wanted you indoctrinated, but I didn’t expect him to dig up ancient scribblings from my student days, so to speak … and you can wipe that look off your face, Stormbird,” he ordered, harshly, though she had not been aware of having any particular expression out of the ordinary.

“What look? I wasn’t-”

“Disappointment, as if you now see me as someone who fell short of his own standards. I don’t recall ever having been coy with you about what I am.”

“I’m sorry, Leader, I didn’t mean … Err, about Soundwave: he said something about you having scraped him off the streets of Tarn. If you don’t mind me asking-”

“Great Cybertron, he  _is_ feeling sentimental. I can only pray there’s a good fight awaiting us at the end of all this, as he’s obviously in need of it. If you must know, my dear, Soundwave was one of many defectives on the streets in those days, but one I knew would make a good addition to my nascent rebel army. Perfectly sound, selfish reasoning on my part, I assure you. He had been forged in the Science Academy as a prototype communications specialist, able to monitor and decode any form of electromagnetic transmission, but they made his sensors a little  _too_ effective, hence his ability to monitor even brain impulses.  _Not_ a side effect they had intended, nor were at all comfortable with. They would have completely reformatted him, no doubt, but thankfully he had both intelligence and a strong sense of identity even in his earliest days. He remotely reprogrammed one of their drone supply shuttles, escaped their laboratories, flew the thing to outer Tarn, and took refuge in the slums. Well, I say ‘refuge’ … His telepathy gave him some protection from being cannibalised by his fellow empties, but considering his other defect it was not easy for him to make friends on the streets. If I hadn’t found him when I did-”

“Sorry? His ‘other defect?’”

“The glaring fault in his speech parser? It’s usually the first thing people notice about him.”

“I hadn’t realised … I just thought he had a really cool voice.”

“I’ll let you pass that on in your own time,” said Megatron, with a smile that was not entirely unpleasant. “Just for now, Primus forbid he hears anything that softens his temperament even more. I’m taking him out in the field imminently, to investigate the intel you brought us, and it would be better for us all if he can somehow manage to stay focused and ruthless.”

“I’m sure he will. He’s really committed, and I’m beginning to understand why … Geez, the Autobots’ ancestors must have been even bigger assholes than Prime himself.”

“I won’t disagree with that assessment.”

“And you … You really cared, didn’t you?”

“Implying I no longer care?” he asked, with a hint of displeasure.

“I didn’t exactly mean-”

“No, you are right. When I wrote that screed, I was almost as stupid an idealist as Prime, in my way. I was naïve enough to think that simply by raising awareness of what the Council were doing, I could put a stop to it, inspire both Decepticons and Autobot allies to take a stand against the injustice of it, but it takes more than fine words to reform a corrupt system, or to destroy it. All that really counts is power, and the willingness to use it. ‘Caring’ merely wastes time and energy. I should have just obeyed my first instincts at the time, spared all the useless rhetoric, and planted a bomb under the Science Academy and the Council Chambers.”

“I can see the point … but what about this,” she declared, while scrolling back through the text on the tablet. “This bit here: ‘Lack of respectability does not trouble her. She barely recognises this brave new Cybertron she has fought for, she knows her own worth, and she can get by quite well without its approval.’ That’s … kind of inspiring. Those are the words of someone who knows that she’s powerful, and doesn’t feel the need to prove it,”  _doesn’t need to bully smaller, weaker creatures to remind herself that she has power, but let’s keep this diplomatic._

“A noble sentiment,” he replied, the sneer firmly back in his voice, “though I need hardly remind you of what happened to ‘Deathwind.’ She was my fiction, admittedly, but many fine Decepticons suffered her fate for putting misguided duty above their survival instincts. In the final estimation, Stormbird, one must either wield power or have it wielded against you.”

“‘You must be either anvil or hammer?’” she quoted, without enthusiasm, but Megatron seized upon it eagerly:

“ _Yes_. That is completely right. Humans may be inferior creatures as a rule, but a few specimens have had some striking insights. ‘Du mußt steigen oder sinken, Du mußt herrschen und gewinnen, Oder dienen und verlieren, Leiden oder triumphieren, Amboß oder Hammer sein.’ _He_ , at least, understood the basic truth of things.”

“You’ve read Goethe?”  _Well, duh, but these guys really are full of surprises._

“I amuse myself as best I can on a primitive planet. Speaking of which, the mission. I merely wanted to see how you were performing before … You’ve already started the schematics?” he asked, as he observed her diagrams on the monitor. “I only ordered you to study our power systems in preparation. I never expected you to get  _this_ far on your own. Impressive.”

“You’re welcome,” she answered, although the praise did not go to heart, partly because she was less than comfortable with how Megatron might use her work, but mostly because she felt it was totally undeserved. “To be honest … it was really easy. I’m amazed no-one’s ever got around to doing this before, if you’ve all got mental hardware like mine.”

“Superior hardware is only the half of it. As you get to know your colleagues, you will realise that all the processing speed in the universe does not preclude being a lazy bastard. Well, Stormbird, I cannot promise you that you will be popular here, but you may well prove indispensable. Perhaps I ought to continue this relaxed recruitment policy and treat myself to an entire honour guard of fanatical female Seekers. All going well, I shall soon be a distinguished enough ruler that it will not even look extravagant.” _Like a cybernetic Colonel Gaddafi,_ thought Gail, acknowledging the joke, such as it was, with a very faint and forced smile. _Actually, very like. He used to care about fixing injustice too._ “Very well, that was crass even by my standards. If that scenario does not appeal, try another: based on Soundwave’s additional research, I have high hopes for your intel. It may even offer the key to victory, in which case I am amenable to sparing this pitiful planet, as long as it can pull its weight in energy production for the empire we shall build. With your skills, I am sure that will be possible. You could administer a continent in my name – this one, if you wish – and rule as cruelly or as kindly as you see fit. Be their benevolent metal goddess, if that amuses you. Ah, I see that is not completely unappealing,” he added, with infuriating satisfaction, as she failed to suppress a flash of temptation in her expression. _Be fair, though. It’s literally the best reparations that an occupying power ever offered us._ “Very good. I shall be interested to see how you take to power. With pleasure, I hope … but it will soon knock the naivete out of your circuits,” he concluded, as he marched from the room. _Was there ever such a guy for gaslighting and putting you down in the same sentence as offering to make you viceroy of North America? Ask a silly question._ Her break period still had some way to run, but her emotions were decidedly overcharged already, so she laid Soundwave’s tablet carefully aside on a shelf of the console and turned her attention back to the half-finished energon bottle, prepared to overlook its dubious taste. _As long as it bears a passing resemblance to Jack Daniel’s … or antifreeze, at any rate. It’s been that sort of day._

************

Getting into Decepticon base had been the easy part for Bumblebee. _A nice, scenic trip along the sea floor. Sub-aqua mods may not be as useful as big guns, strong armour, or super-powered actuators, as Brawn loves reminding me, but boy, do they ever come into their own once in a while._ The sea floor being the sea floor, and thus liberally strewn with random rocks, weeds, and coral formations in spite of half-hearted Decepticon attempts to clear a security perimeter, he enjoyed good cover right up to the wall of the base, where it was a simple matter for him to override one of the airlock controls and grant himself access into the auxiliary docking control room, _and this is where it gets nasty …_ He was lucky enough to find the room unattended, and the console activated and unlocked, but operating Decepticon computers was not his speciality, and he had to work fast to have any hope of getting his friends into the base before he was caught in the act, _or this is likely to be a very short and one-sided fight, unless they just send Rumble in. I could hold my own against that punk, probably, but worse luck it’ll be Starscream or … Oh. Nearly right, then,_ he thought, unhappily, as he saw a tall, dark, winged figure in his peripheral vision, and quickly operated a few more controls. _Let’s just hope that last sequence was-_

“Move back from there, you runt,” hissed Skywarp, aiming his right arm rifle at Bumblebee’s head. “Prime sent _you_ to sneak in here all by your pathetic little lonesome? He must like you almost as much as I do. I’m going to enjoy … What in Unicron’s name is _that_?” he asked, with sudden and extreme dismay, as the docking tower door slid open to reveal an extraordinary figure. Taller even than the Seeker, but neither Autobot nor Decepticon, if anything she resembled some goddess from one of Earth’s ancient civilisations, _or a cross between one of those and a cabaret dancer, possibly._ She was purple-skinned, four-armed, and dressed in a bizarre outfit consisting of a tight black tailcoat and orange bow tie over a leotard and tights, long white opera gloves, burgundy boots with long black spats, and huge, almost insect-like dark glasses to cover all four of her eyes. Skywarp, understandably, reserved most of his horrified attention for the weapon she carried in her two left hands: a great, double-headed war hammer shaped like a giant pair of red fists, tipped with a yellow star. Too late, he tried to turn his gun on her, but she moved faster, her long right leg connecting with his arm and completely throwing his aim off. Before he had even finished squealing in pain from that little altercation, she brought her hammer round, delivering a perfectly-judged blow to the side of his head: no fuss, no unnecessary noise, no needless flying against the wall, but clearly lots of well-directed force, as he was knocked out cold in an instant.

“I owe you one, Sardonyx,” said Bumblebee, in a quiet but very sincere undertone. “For a precision operator, you sure do a good line in bashing heads in.”

“Multi-talented, darling, what can I say?” asked Sardonyx, theatrically. “Well, I could be modest … but who’d believe me?”

“Hey, you three. Less bragging, more hacking,” said Amethyst, disapprovingly, as she emerged from the docking elevator, closely followed by Hound. “Sleeping Beauty down there can’t be the only one around here, and fancy moves won’t help us much if they all swarm us at once. Sugilite might have handled them, of course, but-”

“If we’d formed Sugilite, sweetie, with all of her undoubted _finesse_ ,” interrupted Sardonyx, with sugary sarcasm, as she moved to the console and quickly started rifling through the databases, all four of her hands working the controls skilfully, “then this hull would already be breached in a thousand places and our poor Miss Adler would have to hope she could evolve gills, to have any hope of a meaningful rescue. You ought to count your blessings-”

“Whatever. Can you just try _finding_ her already?”

“More haste, less speed. _My_ , this is much more like it. At least your Decepticons know how to program a decent interface, Bumblebee,” remarked Sardonyx, as she reviewed some log entries. “Almost elegant, and I ought to know. Now, according to this recent entry, a new human prisoner was brought in last night-”

“Uh, we kind of knew that, Sards. Try telling us something-”

“ _And_ was subjected to a process called ‘cortexitron transferral.’ My, what an ugly, long-winded name. I don’t suppose anyone knows-”

“I know,” said Bumblebee, dejectedly. _The Autobot X incident, Spike’s humanity nearly lost forever. The Decepticons must have reverse-engineered the process from scan data, but why? That isn’t their style at all. Just an experiment to see if they could, maybe? Primus knows what they’ve done to the poor woman._

“I’d say this rescue’s a bit on the late side,” said Hound, gloomily echoing Bumblebee’s own thoughts. “Now that we’re here, though, we may as well see it through. Can you locate her?”

“Simplicity itself, darling,” answered Sardonyx. “Apparently, she’s in engineering. I’ll just disable a few internal sensors and plot us a nice, quiet route through the service shafts, so we don’t get any more rude interruptions. I assume no-one minds a little crawling.”

‘A little’ proved somewhat of an underestimation, as the engineering section was not even in the same annex of the base as the auxiliary tower. By Bumblebee’s reckoning, they spent over an hour on their hands and knees in the dusty, greasy, stagnant-smelling ducts, with the exception of Amethyst who was small enough to go upright, and brought up the rear of the group with her whip drawn, ready for action. Bumblebee went in the lead, the low glow from his headlights their only illumination, and his finely-tuned sensors constantly monitoring activity in the corridors above and below them, occasionally signalling them to a halt when he detected Decepticons passing very close at hand. While it was no doubt a safer option than taking the corridors, part of him would have preferred a straightforward fight to this combination of tension and discomfort, _not that I’m in a hurry, exactly. What we’re going to find at the end of this, I dread to … Huh?_ he thought, bemused, as he heard music from the room above. Other than Soundwave, the Decepticons on Earth were not known for being musically inclined, and this song was not even to his taste. _‘Here Comes the Rain Again?’ Maybe they’re just monitoring radio transmissions, but these are definitely Sardonyx’s coordinates. Well, I guess if Miss Adler’s in a sound enough state to appreciate music, her mind must still be intact … but in what body? Here goes nothing,_ he thought, grimly, as he put his shoulder to the service hatch. Pushing it open, he emerged into the engine room.

 _Okay, that’s bad._ A Decepticon Seeker he had never met before sat at the console, from which the incongruous Eurythmics music was emanating. She was of the Mk 1 type, the vents around her head vaguely resembling an Ancient Egyptian headdress, her bodywork coloured in black and lilac, with bleary red eyes, and an almost empty bottle of energon in her right hand. Her expression was bewildered rather than hostile, and she swayed slightly, although she sobered up a little in sheer amazement as Sardonyx clambered into the room.

“Enchan _tée_ , my dear,” declared the huge Gem fusion, as her eyes met those of the prisoner, _assuming that’s what she still is._ “I’d ask you to dance, but I fear we don’t have the-”

“Leave it, Sards,” said Amethyst, seriously, as she joined them. “I don’t think she’s in the mood for jokes, somehow.” The Decepticon’s response to this was decidedly ambiguous, however: a burst of inebriated, ironic laughter.

“Okay, it’s all making sense now,” she said, with a faint slur. “Giant robots, purple pixies, totally random Hindu goddess in a bunny girl costume … Someone just spiked my drink at the union bar, right? I’m probably lying in Central City General right now, waiting for the paramedics to flush my system. Shit, I hope my insurance is up-to-date.”

“Err, Miss Gail Adler?” asked Bumblebee, and was neither elated nor surprised when she threw him a clumsy toast by way of affirmation. “Right … I’m afraid health insurance won’t be much help to you now, but if you know where your body’s got to, we might be able-”

“Never mind that, Bumblebee,” said Hound, his tone suddenly stern and cold. He was examining an old data tablet he had retrieved from the console. “Just look at what she’s been reading,” he added, and threw it to Bumblebee, eliciting an angry reaction from the Seeker.

“Hey! You be careful with that!” she protested. “That’s Soundwave’s, and he told me to take real good care of it … not that any of this is real, but still-”

“I only wish it wasn’t,” said Bumblebee, sadly, as he perused the tablet. _‘Peace Through Tyranny.’ Ancient Decepticon propaganda. Looks as if this ‘rescue’ just turned into a ‘capture.’_ He caught Hound’s eyes again, and saw his own thoughts reflected there, although with considerably more bitterness. _Hound loves the Earth, loves humanity, doesn’t miss Cybertron at all. He’d give his life to defend this planet. The mere thought of a human being who’d, well …_

“She’s no prisoner. She’s sold out,” declared Hound, giving form to the ugly thought. “She must have told them everything she knew in exchange for … _this_.”

“Oh … but shouldn’t we let her speak for herself, perhaps?” suggested Sardonyx, calmly, while Amethyst, now keeping guard by the door, observed the exchange with a sceptical frown.

“She can do that back at HQ,” decided Hound. “It’s high time we were leaving. Are you coming quietly, Miss?”

“Whatever, buddy,” answered Gail, and chugged down the last dregs of her energon. She threw the empty bottle against the wall, where it winked out of existence, climbed lethargically to her feet, then snatched the tablet back from Bumblebee, and clutched it protectively to her chest panel. _That won’t play at all well with Prime,_ thought Bumblebee, _but the Gems are right: we need to hear her side of things. Maybe she was brainwashed, or it’s all been a huge misunderstanding. Let’s hope, because if the Decepticons are actually working on the art of getting willing recruits again – and succeeding – it could hardly be worse news for us._

 


	4. Question of Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Decepticons stage a ruse to keep the Autobots distracted while they work to unearth Gem secrets. Meanwhile, Optimus interrogates their new recruit, only to be painfully confronted with his own history.

_Any leader worth his electrolytes must be open to trying out new ideas, of course. Still, it is reassuring to be reminded that our little caged bird was a rarity among her contemptible species,_ thought Megatron, as he watched the last of Kayser Petrochemicals’ employees fleeing in terror over the rocky red Arizona horizon, their jeeps and ATVs churning up a great cloud of dust. A few of them had even fled the Decepticon attack on foot, although how they expected to make it through the desert that way, he neither knew nor cared.  _Pathetic, dim-witted cowards, although to do them all the justice they deserve, I suppose their malaise is much the same as ours once was: the mediocrities, conformists, and hypocrites of their race rose to the top of the pile long ago, and did their best to make everyone else in their image. No matter. Degenerate as they are, they will still serve adequately as slaves for our renaissance, which will hopefully be upon us imminently. There’s real power in this place, I can almost taste it._

He turned his attention back to the geophysical vector map currently displayed upon Soundwave’s chest panel. Steadily rotating, it displayed an accurate if bland 3D model of the canyon and the surrounding terrain for a width of about five miles, boundaries of the rock layers going down almost as far, and below them all a perfectly regular, cube-shaped hollow in the Earth’s crust, like some insanely deep burial chamber. Within this chamber, a dull red light pulsed like the disembodied heartbeat of some sleeping underworld deity.  _The energy source. A weak signal – hardly surprising, given its depth – but unique. Radiation from a weapon, perhaps, or a power crystal like the one we briefly commandeered in Peru? I am at grave risk of overloading with the sheer suspense of it …_

“Could the humans have even dug that far, with this primitive technology?” asked Starscream, disdainfully, while throwing a gesture towards Kayser’s abandoned stock of pipes, girders, pumps, motors, and heavy industrial drill bits. “I wouldn’t use that obsolete junk to dig a petro-rabbit trap.”

“THE EQUIPMENT IS ADEQUATE, BUT IT WOULD HAVE BEEN A MAJOR UNDERTAKING,” assessed Soundwave. “ESTIMATE: 1.224 EARTH YEARS’ WORTH OF DRILLING. THEY WOULD HAVE STRUGGLED TO MAINTAIN THEIR COVER STORY FOR THAT DURATION. IMPLICATIONS … TROUBLING.”  _Ah, ever the optimist, old friend,_ thought Megatron, for once in too good a mood to mind his comrades’ wittering.

“Then I expect they were ready to bring in troops when their ruse failed, Soundwave,” he speculated, with confidence.  _It’s what I’d have done._ “They’d have used whatever force they needed to complete the excavation … only they did not reckon on our superior force.”

“MOBILISE TROOPS AGAINST THEIR OWN PEOPLE? POSSIBLY,” said Soundwave, managing to sound deeply sceptical in spite of his monotone. “THE STAKES ARE HIGH … BUT IT IS NOT HOW THINGS ARE USUALLY DONE HERE.”

“Oh, what does it matter what these insects were planning?” sneered Starscream. “Let’s just get the goods and go. I don’t imagine it will take you and your team over a year, will it?” he asked Scrapper, who was also examining Soundwave’s diagram while the rest of the Constructicons lounged about the scenery, passing the time by swigging small canisters of energon and using Kayser’s abandoned portacabins for target practice.

“Nothing like that,” answered Scrapper, “though since the humans were kind enough to bequeath us all their equipment, I think we  _might_ make some use of it. Primitive they may be, Starscream, but those tungsten carbide drill bits are tough little mothers. Cluster a few of them together, give them a light coating of cybernite alloy, a little force-shielding, hook up one of the protonic fuel cells … I’m thinking along the lines of a drone unit that could cut through those rock strata like so many slices of caesium cheese, get right into that cavern, and pluck out whatever’s to be found there. Worse luck for us if these aliens were just using it as a rubbish tip.”

“IMPROBABLE, GIVEN THE EFFORT INVOLVED,” remarked Soundwave, “AND EVEN THEIR RUBBISH WOULD LIKELY YIELD VALUABLE CLUES FOR TECHNOLOGICAL ADVANCES.”

“Let’s hope for better, though,” said Megatron.  _I shall be most displeased if we’ve gone to all this trouble for a room full of broken furniture and unwanted knick-knacks, however alien._ “I can’t imagine they’d have dug that deep unless they had something worth hiding.”

“That’s if they did dig,” pointed out Scrapper. “The survey doesn’t show any sign of an original shaft.”

“HYPOTHESIS: A NATURAL CAVERN, FURTHER EXTENDED BY THE ALIENS, AND ORIGINALLY ACCESSED BY SUB-SPATIAL MATTER TRANSMISSION.”

“They warped? Through that much depth of solid rock?”

“A TESTIMONY TO THEIR ADVANCED TECHNOLOGY. IN ANY CASE, THEY SEEM TO HAVE HAD AN AFFINITY FOR GEOLOGY. MINERAL ICONOGRAPHY FEATURES HEAVILY IN THEIR CULTURE. SPECULATION: SILICON-BASED LIFE. WE CAN ASSUME THAT THEY-”

“Calling Soundwave, calling Megatron. Respond,” interrupted a quiet, gravelly voice – barely more than a hoarse whisper – from Soundwave’s built-in intercom. It was familiar to Megatron, but he could not instantly place it, until the voice itself declared its identity. “Ravage here. Respond, someone. This is urgent.”

_Great Cybertron, one forgets he has a voice,_ thought Megatron. Ravage – ever the taciturn, solitary type even on Cybertron – had taken to his reconfigured Earth form with almost disturbing enthusiasm, delighting in the extra licence it gave him to be a creature of instinct and impulse, and he was not at all bothered that it alienated him from his humanoid comrades.  _Nevertheless, he is able to speak when he needs to, but it is never to exchange pleasantries. Ten to one, Stormbird has betrayed us, or worse, though I’d sooner not contemplate that._

“REPORT, RAVAGE,” ordered Soundwave, his tone just a little faster than usual, betraying his concern. While he enjoyed a thoroughly toxic relationship with most of the Decepticon rank and file, the Decepticon spymaster’s devotion to his various scouts, and theirs to him, was so well known as to be almost embarrassing, but Megatron tolerated it as long as they continued to miserably outclass most of their comrades in the performance and loyalty stakes.

“Stormbird’s been taken: an Autobot raid,” explained Ravage, succinctly.  _Ah, worse, then._ “I’m with her, but they don’t know it. I changed into my altmode and sneaked into one of her jet intakes while they weren’t looking.”

“I always knew you were a dirty little bastard at core, Ravage,” quipped Scrapper, but he cowered back into respectful silence as both Megatron and Soundwave treated him to equally baleful stares.  _Better. My base being raided is no joking matter, speaking of which, while I appreciate the report, Ravage, you’ve some explaining to do._

“You just let them take her? Why didn’t you raise the alarm?” asked Megatron, none too patiently, but before he could reply, Starscream butted in with a typically unhelpful and insubordinate contribution:

“Pah, good riddance to her! Exactly how I expected this ridiculous ‘experiment’ to end. If the cowardly creature couldn’t even defend herself, what use is she- ?”

“She has no combat protocols installed, you imbecile,” snarled Ravage, the mediocre reception doing nothing to dampen his displeasure. “How could she have?”

“She’ll defect, you just wait and see. She’ll crawl on her knees to Prime and beg forgiveness, and I expect that sentimental fool will be only too glad to give it. All we’ve done is increase the Autobot numbers by-”

“You know nothing. She’s strong and proud, and she’ll not bend the knee to Prime. However … there are aliens. Powerful aliens, working with the Autobots. That’s why I went with them instead of raising the alarm, Megatron. I thought you would need the intel. They call themselves ‘Crystal Gems,’ and they know of the drilling operation.”

 _‘Crystal Gems’ … It looks very much as if Soundwave’s silicon-based lifeforms have come to claim their own, curse them,_ thought Megatron. _Let’s just hope the Constructicons can work fast, as I’d rather we didn’t have yet another decisive super-weapon lost in some stupid crossfire._ “We can expect a combined attack soon, then?” he asked Ravage, fearing the worst.

“That’s the strangest thing of all. We’re en route to Autobot HQ now, but from the comm messages they’ve been sending to Prime, it seems the Autobots are under orders from their human masters not to attack the drilling site, even to defend it against us.”

“What?” asked Starscream, incredulously. “That’s ridiculous, Ravage. When was the last time you degaussed your audio receptors? I’ve never heard such a load of-”

“LOGICAL EXPLANATION,” interrupted Soundwave, rather defensively. “PRIME IS LAW-ABIDING, BUT HE HAS HIS LIMITS. THE GOVERNMENT MAY NOT WISH THE AUTOBOTS TO BE INVOLVED, WHATEVER THE REPERCUSSIONS. IF THEY SUSPECT THE ALIEN ENERGY SOURCE TO BE VERY POWERFUL OR DEADLY-”

“Then they won’t want to share it with Prime, or risk that squeamish idiot destroying it, any more than we would,” Megatron concluded for him, with great satisfaction. “More and more promising, but let’s not delay. This buys us time, but-”

“Wait. there’s more,” explained Ravage. “Mirage has been sent to spy on you. If he confirms that this is no mere energy raid, he’s to report in, then Prime _will_ attack.”

“We’ll soon put a stop to that,” declared Starscream, furiously. “A nice blanket of incendiary charges along the edge of the canyon ought to do it. Let’s see whether his invisibility can protect him from burning to-”

“That would be _asking_ for the Autobots to attack, you cretin,” pointed out Megatron, wearily. “I’ll assume, Soundwave, you favour a more subtle approach.”

“AFFIRMATIVE. WE CAN CONTROL THE INFORMATION – OR MISINFORMATION – THAT MIRAGE REPORTS BACK. THE CONSTRUCTICONS CAN SET UP A SECONDARY CAMP HERE, UNDER COVER OF THESE ROCK FORMATIONS,” suggested Soundwave, pointing to an area at the very edge of the operations map. “THEY CAN BUILD AND DEPLOY THEIR DRONE FROM THERE. MEANWHILE, WE SET UP A MOCK EXTRACTION ARRAY HERE AND START FILLING ENERGON CUBES, AS PER NORMAL. AS LONG AS WE SEEM TO DO NOTHING OUT OF THE ORDINARY, THE ATTACK IS DELAYED.”

“Oh, _brilliant_ plan, Soundwave,” Scrapper congratulated him, with withering insincerity, “other than the tiny detail that _there is no damned oil here_! How exactly do you suggest we fill the energon cubes? Empty our waste lubricant pipes into them?”

“SIMPLE. DIG A FALSE BOREHOLE, SINK ONE OF THE PROTONIC FUEL CELLS IN IT, AND USE THE ENERGY FROM THAT.”

“One lousy fuel cell? Just how much stupid did you contract from your new human girlfriend? How many cubes do you imagine that’s going to- ?”

“VERY FEW NORMAL CUBES. PROPOSITION: WE USE THESE ONES INSTEAD,” answered Soundwave, whereupon the operations map vanished from his chest panel and a new vector image appeared in its place: that of a simple cube, which slid out of the screen surface until it formed a solid, see-through framework in his hands. At a cursory glance, it looked no different from any other empty energon cube, but when Megatron leaned in for a closer look he saw the subtle difference in the mesh: another cube, fractionally smaller than the main one, was nested inside it, thus creating a very narrow space between them. “VOLUME EQUALS 2.97% OF STANDARD ENERGON CUBE, BUT PASSABLE EXCEPT UNDER CLOSE SCRUTINY.” While Scrapper lapsed back into a sullen silence, Megatron allowed himself an amused smile at the Constructicon squad leader’s expense. He had seen many attempts to mock and undermine Soundwave over the centuries, very few of which had come off successfully. _Sentimental pessimist or not, you never go long without reminding me of why I keep you around._

“You heard him,” said Megatron, having savoured Scrapper’s humiliation all he cared to. “Half of you, get filling dummy cubes, the other half work on the drone. By the time the Autobots’ curiosity overcomes their qualms, they’ll have lost any chance they ever had of stopping us, and these aliens, to use the local vernacular, can go whistle for their energy source.” _Serves them right for losing their empire in the first place. Not a mistake I shall be making._

“One more thing, Megatron,” said Ravage. “I’ve copied and compiled my own combat and transformation protocols into an executable file. With your permission, I’d like to upload them to Stormbird. Together, we can quickly demolish this Autobot scum. The aliens might be a tougher prospect, but-”

“Hold that thought for now, Ravage,” ordered Megatron. “Just stay out of sight and keep a channel open until the opportune moment,” _which is most definitely not now,_ he thought. _If they make a break for it now, that could escalate things all too soon and cost us any head-start we gain from Soundwave’s little ruse. Stormbird will have to take her chances, at least until we have our prize. I deem it unlikely Prime would stoop to executing a defenceless female in a fit of pique … though if he did, that at least would make superb propaganda. In any case, I’m not sure I fully trust our reluctant recruit with full powers and privileges, yet. Let us see how she conducts herself before Prime, before we make any rash commitments on that score._

************

“PARTY AT MAIN GATE. REQUESTING CLEARANCE,” announced Teletraan I. Optimus Prime observed the new arrivals on the security monitor. The Autobots were all in their altmodes. Bumblebee was in the lead, Rose’s allies – Amethyst, Garnet, and Pearl – were sitting in Hound’s jeep mode, and also bringing up the rear was Ironhide in his van mode, with the Decepticon – _No. Let’s not curse her with that designation yet, however bad things look –_ with Miss Adler sitting on his roof. Since she was unable to transform, Ironhide had driven out to meet them for this very purpose, showing his typical steadfastness: Optimus very much doubted he enjoyed being mobile furniture for a female Starscream, but he was not one to shirk even menial or unpleasant duties. The scene was bizarrely amicable: with the Autobots thus faceless, it was only the Gems and Miss Adler who brought any expression to the silent CCTV images, and they all seemed to be chatting quite pleasantly. _Whether that’s good or bad, who can say?_ He glanced at Rose Quartz, who looked almost as troubled as he felt. She had been no more elated than he had at the news that their rescue effort had come too late to stop Miss Adler from losing her humanity, although she had not shared his disgust at Hound’s report that the young eco-terrorist may not have been an entirely unwilling ‘convert.’ _How could she? I have rarely met a wiser being, but by her own admission she and her friends are unfamiliar with the Decepticons. They will soon know them better, and understand._

“Let them in, Teletraan I,” he ordered, with all due reluctance. From a distance, the sound of servomotors reached them as the Ark’s blast doors and entrance ramp made passage for the new arrivals. This was followed by the sound of Autobot engines mixed with indecipherable chatter, then a few seconds later the escort party wheeled into the control room, their strange ‘guests’ still in mid-conversation:

“ … kind of unreal, you know?” were the first comprehensible words he caught, spoken by Miss Adler, with awe. “I mean … you guys actually _knew_ Pahana? That’s like knowing fricking _Prometheus_ , or Hercules.”

“Oh, Pahana, Quetzalcoatl, Kukulcan … whatever you call him these days,” replied Pearl, casually. “So many different names, none of them remotely right, of course, but they must certainly refer to the same figure. One doesn’t easily forget a human who actually fought in the Gem War. All too many human victims, of course …” she added, solemnly. “Anyway, there were so many battles fought around this area, and it was bound to have a profound impact upon the primitive human settlers.”

“And she doesn’t mean that as an insult, by the way,” remarked Garnet, with a faint but definite cautioning note, as if she was all-too-used to playing the diplomat. “This _was_ a good few thousand years ago, and your ancestors were really only just starting to build societies for themselves … and random alien civil wars on their doorstep didn’t exactly help matters.”

“Oh, not at all,” said Pearl, with a faint blush. “I mean, what _isn’t_ primitive compared to Gem technology? But he was a king worthy of the name, anyway. He insisted on doing his part to defend his people, even though he knew from his perspective he’d basically be fighting ‘demons.’ I was sceptical at the time, but to see his commitment, then to see him actually in battle … To this day, I find it hard to believe I once saw a full-blown Carnelian soldier in the midst of her battle rage poofed by a human being.”

“Be fair, now. That _was_ one of Bismuth’s best recurve bows he was using,” pointed out Garnet, nostalgically.

“Granted, but it takes skill and courage, whatever the weapon. Also, let’s not forget his intelligence in peacetime, all that knowledge he gained and took back to his people. I mean, you only have to look at some of the ancient monuments of these lands to see the Gem influence practically spilling out of them: the cliff palaces, the great citadels, the pyramid temples … I suppose our architecture always was more impressive than our morals,” she mused, bitterly.

“That’s … far out,” said Miss Adler, her awe undaunted by Pearl’s moment of gloom. “Folk heroes, real-life _goddesses_ , I mean,” she added, while Pearl blushed again, Garnet’s face broke into a relaxed half-smile, and Amethyst took a swig from Hound’s oil can. “Don’t get me wrong. Sure, I respect my people’s beliefs, but I’ve always been a sceptic at heart.”

“Very wise, too,” replied Pearl, sagely. “Humans are _so_ credulous, as a rule.”

“That’s what I thought, Pearl, but now … Let’s just say, next time I’m back home and hearing my grandpa telling stories of the ancestors, the War Gods, Spider Woman, and what have you, I might have to be a bit less of a smart- … oh,” she muttered, forlornly, and lowered her head, leaving the sentence hanging.

“What’s the beef?” asked Amethyst, bluntly and with oil dribbling down her chin, but with genuine concern.

“Well, I guess I’m not likely to be going back home … like, ever again. I don’t think my family are going to want to see me like this, somehow.”

“Are you kidding me? You went off to that university place just to read some dumb books, or whatever, and you ended up as a _giant freaking shape-shifting super robot_ instead! How is that not the coolest thing ever? I’d be all over that if I was your family.” While Optimus could not agree with the sentiment in the slightest, he had to admit that Amethyst’s uncomplicated earthiness was effective therapy: the Seeker’s dejected face instantly brightened, and she even laughed a little. _Perhaps Hound misunderstood the situation … though I can’t help but feel I’m not exactly in the presence of friends._ The casual conversation had gone on just a little too long, with all of them pointedly ignoring him. As Bumblebee transformed out of his altmode and walked over to join him, shaking his head, he saw that he was not alone in his suspicions. _Either a studied insult, or simply a determination to show me that they have her back before I start interrogating her … which I will do, nevertheless. An unpleasant duty, but a duty still._

“Okay, _kind_ of cool,” admitted Miss Adler, her mood much lighter, if still a little melancholy. “Scratch the shape-shifting bit, though. Megatron left that function out of my programming. Apparently, I have to earn brownie points if I want to graduate to transforming.”

“Aw, no fair,” said Amethyst, as she swung herself out of Hound’s front passenger seat. The other two Gems followed, and Miss Adler finally stood up, allowing both Hound and Ironhide to resume their humanoid forms. Both of their faces were even grimmer than Bumblebee’s. “Never mind, anyway. We can fix that, for sure. Yo, Robo-Boss Guy,” said Amethyst, walking over to Optimus with an overly casual air. “Fix up this girl so she transforms, will ya? We’ve just now agreed she owes me a wild jet ride for the rescue.” _Yes, we are definitely in studied insult territory now. I’d have gladly been spared this._ He was grateful that Rose Quartz picked that moment to intervene, piercing the tension with a calm but incisive, delicately authoritative tone:

“Is anything the matter, Amethyst?”

“Well I don’t know, Rose, you tell us,” answered Amethyst, her tone hardening. “As far as I know, we just pulled off a nice, clean, badass rescue mission, just like you told us to, only _now_ Jeepface over there is saying our rescuee is under arrest, which is so _not_ what we signed up for.”

“Do I look like a cop to you?” asked Garnet, stonily, while adjusting her dark glasses.

“And he can’t even offer any coherent explanation of whatever it is she’s supposed to have done wrong!” said Pearl, irascibly. “Some unsubstantiated nonsense about having sold these Decepticons the location of an oil well, I ask you, when we already _know_ that was just a hoax cooked up by Zultanite. Still, if the Decepticons do happen to blow Zultanite’s gem to atoms in the process of chasing after her non-existent oil, they’ll have done the galaxy a favour, I’m sorry to say! Oh, and there was something about her being in possession of a blacklisted book as well, and if I’m not supposed to find it sinister that they’d consider _that_ a crime-”

“For Cybertron’s sake … She’s a traitor, Optimus,” declared Hound, in a tone of exasperation that was instantly matched by Miss Adler herself:

“I am _not_ a traitor, I keep on telling you! In what universe did ‘getting press-ganged’ become equivalent to ‘selling out?’ Okay, I told them about Kayser’s drilling, so they could wreck it since _you_ lot obviously care more about your unsullied reputations than actually saving this planet, but I was more than happy to do that for free. This body was Megatron’s idea of a surprise present.”

“You expect us to believe that? Your new boss is hardly the generous type, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“And yet … From what you have told me, Optimus,” said Rose Quartz, with a reflective, reasonable air, “this Megatron has the heart of a tyrant.”

“If he has any heart at all,” agreed Optimus, grimly. “What of it?”

“Even the cruellest of tyrants may have a flash of generosity every now and again, at least on their own terms, and especially if they can demonstrate their power that way. I believe her.”

“I would like to …” _but it is not that simple, would that it were,_ he thought, and turned back to Hound. “What is your evidence against her, other than the Seeker body?”

“Glad you asked, Prime,” answered Hound, and turned his still thoroughly disgusted gaze back onto Miss Adler. “That piece of Decepticon garbage you were reading, Miss: hand it over.”

“It is _not_ garbage … and I don’t have it, anyway,” she admitted.

“Then who- ?”

“Here,” said Garnet, holding up a black data tablet in her right hand, while her posture remained otherwise rigid, and her air completely stony. “Pearl and I got a bit bored on the journey so we tried some light reading. Wish I hadn’t bothered, now.” Pearl said nothing, but curled her lip contemptuously. _If that tablet’s what I think it is … Megatron is such a shallow, sadistic braggart these days, one forgets he could be quite the eloquent rabble-rouser in his youth. Definitely not encouraging._ Hound took the tablet from Garnet and passed it to him, but to his confusion the text it displayed was entirely in unfamiliar glyphs, as hard and angular as Cybertronian script, but distinctly different. _Corrupted, perhaps?_

“Sorry. I modded it for Gem script,” explained Pearl, coldly. “Just double-tap the screen to switch back to default … if you’re all that morbidly curious.” Optimus did so, and saw that his suspicions had been correct. _Megatron’s wretched pamphlet, one of the worst catalysts behind this interminable war._ Considering all that it represented to him – the wasted aeons, the countess dead friends, a near-extinct people – he would have gladly ground it to metal filings in his hands, _but Pearl has a point: just having read the thing is not evidence per se. Miss Adler has the right to speak for herself … and I would know just how lost the poor woman is, in any case._

“Did Megatron give this to you, Miss Adler?” he asked. “Surely you must realise-”

“Actually, no,” she cut in. “He was quite embarrassed to find me reading it, didn’t like to be thought of as someone who once had ideals, before harsh reality drilled them out of him.” _Indeed? So he does still have a spark of manipulative charisma, when he cares to turn it on._ “It was Soundwave who gave me that, or lent it, anyway, so I’ll thank you to give it back when-”

“Oh yes, thanks for reminding me,” interrupted Hound, scathingly. “She’s pally with Soundwave, of all people. I don’t know if that’s exactly a crime on the Cybertronian statute books, but it sure is having poor – and suspicious – taste in friends.”

“Am I to blame because someone shows me a bit of consideration, now? While we’re on that subject, though, I happen to think telepathy’s a really cool power … and he’s got a way sexier voice than any of you. Still, don’t pay any attention to me. Human society’s got a really shit record for treating ‘defectives’ like dirt as well, so far be it from me to take the moral high ground.”

“Gem society didn’t do too well in that regard either,” remarked Pearl, distastefully. “It’s depressing to think that all intelligent species might be equally callous, to say nothing of cowardly. ‘Reformatting,’ ‘demobilisation,’ indeed … Charming euphemisms for lobotomising and mutilating your unwanted knights. Peace is all well and good, but without honour? Small wonder your civilisation’s spent the last few ice ages in terminal decline if that’s the best you can-”

“Pearl, please,” urged Rose, soothingly. “We’re not among enemies.”

“Thank you, Rose,” said Optimus, “and if I may speak in defence of my people: damning as this document may look, you would be most naïve to take it at face … Why is that funny?” he asked, annoyed in spite of himself, as Miss Adler laughed sarcastically.

“It isn’t. Just ironic,” she answered. “Megatron called me naïve too. Obviously, this is my day for uniting both extremes of the cyber-political divide in one opinion.” _I’m an extremist, now? I suppose if that hateful screed was all the perspective one had._ “Perhaps the Decepticons ought to have made me a diplomat instead of an engineer … or maybe not,” she conceded, in deference to the icy, toxic atmosphere. “Anyway, if you mean I’m naïve because everything in that pamphlet’s just a pack of lies, then fair enough. I apologise completely, of course.”

“And in case you’re wondering, we all agree she deserves clarification on that,” said Garnet, sternly, while Pearl nodded.

“Respectfully, none of you were there,” replied Optimus, carefully. “If you had been on Cybertron nine million years ago, and knew the whole story-”

“Ah, so it’s _not_ just a pack of lies,” interrupted Miss Adler. “You’ll pardon me if I find that legitimately disturbing, not to mention that you’d try to defend it now.”

“Please understand: the Decepticons were built for war. It was all they knew, all they cared about, down to their very sparks. When the Revolution was over, they would have kept Cybertron at perpetual war. First, they would have taken it to the Quintessons’ allies, under the pretext of punishing them for their part in our slavery. Then, they would have taken it to all organic and bio-mechanical races, under the pretext that only by enslaving or destroying them could they guarantee our continued freedom. After that, I expect they would have abandoned all pretext, and have declared war on all forms of life. Should the Council have indulged their ambitions, and left Cybertron to become a scourge upon the whole universe? Decisions needed to be taken … decisions I certainly do not envy them, but the alternative was civil war.”

“‘The ends justify the means’ again, right? I’m hearing that line a lot today … and it seems to me like you got civil war anyway.”

“Admittedly, but considering what that war has done to our people, and to _your_ planet, can you blame our forbears for trying to avert it?”

“By brainwashing unsuspecting military veterans? Sure I-”

“There was the hope, however remote, that by curing the Decepticons of their capacity and inclination to evil, Cybertron could enjoy a lasting peace, but it was certainly not an easy decision for Alpha Trion and the Council to make. If there had been any other way-”

“Oh, _him_. He sure sounds like a fascinating piece of work. You knew him back when you were plain old Orion Pax, right?”

“How did you know that?” asked Optimus, with failing restraint. These were memories he did not care to face at the best of times, least of all from someone wearing Decepticon sigils.

“There’s a little appendix on my copy. I guess Soundwave must have added some reflections of his own. It mentions this Trion guy: says he went into battlefield surgery after the Civil War broke out and the Council dissolved. I understand he fast-tracked you through triage after you were brought to him wounded … though less out of kindness and more so he could experiment upon you and turn you into the super-soldier you are today. Kind of a strange approach to doctoring, if you don’t mind me saying, and I guess you can see the irony as well as I can: here he is, on the one hand, reformatting Decepticons to be weakened, amnesiac wrecks, and on the other reformatting Autobots to be total badasses. I’d say unless you were a convinced loyalist already, it’d be hard _not_ to have the nagging sense he was less interested in preventing war than in concentrating power with his own faction, while … oh,” she finished, innocuously enough, but with real hate in her eyes, as Optimus snapped the data tablet in two. He instantly regretted it, although it had been an impulsive act, with no intention to be cruel. Knowing that Soundwave had coded a version of his own history onto the thing, and spun it as Decepticon propaganda, gave it an additional level of obscenity. Aeons ago or not, that day had left bitter scars: the Decepticon raid on the docks, seeing his workmate and his lover shot down, being shot himself, waking up in an infirmary to find himself with a different face, voice, and even name, _and much as I came to admire Alpha Trion later, I cannot say that was not a traumatising awakening. Now, to hear my mental and physical wounds exploited by the very people who inflicted them … but that is not her fault. I should have had better self-control. I could not have played into Megatron’s hands more adeptly had I tried._

“Miss Adler, I-” he began, gently, but she cut him off with ice and venom:

“That’ll be _Stormbird_ , to you.”

“As you wish, but if you choose that path-”

“I didn’t say I’d chosen any path. You just don’t get to talk down to me, is all.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied, with heartfelt regret. “Those times you speak of: they hold painful memories for me. Perhaps they hold painful memories for some Decepticons, too. It wouldn’t surprise me … but even if we cannot give you your humanity back, it is not fair that the collective tragedy of our race should have to become your tragedy as well.”

“That’s okay,” said Stormbird, civilly if coldly. “I’m getting kind of used to being like this, now. Well, if that’s all, I guess I’m free to go, right?”

“Like blazes you are, Miss Ad-” Ironhide began to answer, incredulously, only for Amethyst to interrupt in a superficially relaxed, but insistent tone:

“Dude, she totally said call her Stormbird.”

“I don’t give a hoot and a holler what she calls herself, or what she wants. Even if she ain’t no Decepticon – and I’d say the jury’s out on that one – she gave them a helping hand, sure as Primus made little grey asteroids. Why, she’s as good as admitted that she wanted to sabotage her own government’s project. I reckon they might have a thing or two to say about-”

“Oh, _right_. So when I come here, begging for you to use a bit of leverage with Washington to stop their capitalist cronies from raping a national monument, _then_ all you can do is twiddle your thumbs and plead political neutrality,” pointed out Stormbird, acidly. “When, on the other hand, you can earn yourselves a nice pat on the back from Washington by turning me in, suddenly neutrality goes right out of the window.”

“Hey, we don’t write the laws on this planet, Missy. You don’t like them-”

“If you’re about to suggest she becomes an alien … really lousy timing, Vanman,” quipped Amethyst. Before Ironhide could think of a suitable comeback, Optimus spoke up, reasonably:

“She’s right, Ironhide. To avoid damaging our relations with our hosts, I elected to stay completely on the sidelines of this drilling project. A necessary decision, but not one that pleased me. We at least owe our guest consistency. You are _not_ under arrest, Stormbird. It is unproven that you freely joined the Decepticons, and I cannot see that we have anything else to charge you with.”

“Gee, thanks,” replied Stormbird, sceptically. “In that case, may I- ?”

“But you _will_ have to be detained here until we have time to work out what would be in your best interests. This is a strange and delicate matter, and hardly one we can take lightly.”

“So, arrest in all but name, then?”

“For your safety as much as for ours. It will hopefully not be for-”

“ALERT,” said Teletraan I, impassive as ever. _The amount of bickering that computer has witnessed, I sometimes think it is better-adjusted than any of us._ “INCOMING ENCRYPTED COMMUNICATION FROM COVERT AGENT D-285. ARE YOU ABLE TO RECEIVE?”

“Put it through, Teletraan.” _Mirage, reporting in at last. Just when I was starting to wonder how this day could possibly get any worse …_ The screen remained dark, but the Autobot spy’s refined accent began emanating through the speakers, albeit in crackly low-fidelity: the best signal he could manage to squeeze through both anti-Decepticon encryption and his own invisibility field.

“You asked me to report if I saw anything unusual, Prime. Well … this is more of a hunch than hard evidence, I’ll admit, but there’s _something_ strange going on here.”

“Go ahead, Mirage.”

“On the face of it, everything seems normal. The Constructicons have set up a rig, Soundwave’s made energon cubes, and they’ve filled a batch of them. It’s just … well, I’ve never known the Constructicons to work in shifts before. I can only ever seem to count three of them at a time. Soundwave keeps wandering off, as well. I tracked him as far as a cave a couple of miles down the canyon. I couldn’t get any closer and not risk detection, so Primus only knows what they’re doing in there. I suppose they _could_ just be taking an awful lot of rest breaks, but with Megatron supervising … That’s not exactly his management style.”

“Oh _please_ , it’s obvious what’s going on,” remarked Pearl, loftily. “As I seem to have to keep reminding you, there’s no oil at that site. The Peridot who surveyed it didn’t find a drop, and a few millennia being such a piffling time in geological terms, I don’t expect any will have formed there since. Clearly, your Decepticons have gotten wise to the hoax, and are just putting on a show to fool you while they excavate whatever’s left of the Pavilion of Mercy in the hope of salvaging themselves some Gem techno- … Oh my,” she added, with a sudden air of foreboding. “That’s _bad_. I mean, we know Zultanite herself still thinks there’s something worth digging up there, and if these Decepticons are as pitiless as you all seem to think they are …”

“Indeed, Pearl. That _is_ bad,” agreed Rose Quartz, with a meaningful glance towards Optimus. “Not just for us, but for this whole planet. If we needs must stop them ourselves, we will, though I shan’t say no to any help … if anyone here shares our view.” Optimus lowered his head slightly, in grim resignation. _It looks as if neutrality really will have to go out of the window._

“I concur, and you will have my aid, Rose,” he declared, before turning to address the assembled Autobots, “but I cannot ask this of any of you. Hoax or not, in marching on that valley we _will_ be defying the express wishes of the human authorities, so if any of you consider this a reckless venture and would sooner remain here, it will not be held against-”

“Yeah, like that’s ever going to happen,” quipped Sunstreaker, wryly. “I’m pretty sure you can count on us all, Prime. Anyway, I’d say the human authorities _owe_ us a good crime or two, after that stitch-up last year when they almost deported us right into the heart of the Sun thanks to Megatron’s pathetic little smear campaign. If you’ll pardon me saying, Stormbird, your former people aren’t awfully keen on aliens, however much we seem to do for them.”

“ _My_ people?” replied the Seeker, with a short, ironic laugh. “As far as my people are concerned, this whole country’s in the hands of aliens, and there’s plenty of them who aren’t all that keen on _us_ , either.”

“You have my gratitude, Sunstreaker,” said Optimus, sincerely but with a note of displeasure at the direction the conversation had taken. _Did Megatron perhaps make her for this very purpose? To exploit old resentments and prejudices, to sow doubt and division? Human politics is a mess of corruption and injustices, I know that all too well, but it is not for us to strong-arm it into being something better. That could only ever end in ill._ “Thank you for your report, Mirage. Keep up observation for now, but you may expect us soon. All volunteers, assemble outside the Ark and await further orders. Hound, Ironhide: take Stormbird to one of our unused cabins. Make sure she has access to re-energising facilities and preferably a recreation terminal, but no transmitters, and make certain the door has a functioning lock.” In spite of his efforts at mercy, he was not surprised that she treated him to another glare as she was led away by her very sullen-looking escorts. _The two who dislike her the most, but it is safer that way. We may risk letting her form friendships later on, if she is so inclined, and if I can satisfy myself she merely represents a cruel whim of Megatron’s rather than deliberate – and effective – psychological warfare._

“Pearl, Garnet, Amethyst: please join them outside,” asked Rose. “I’d like a moment alone with our host.” The three Gems followed in the wake of the departing Autobot task force, but the parting glances they gave to Optimus were not much friendlier than Stormbird’s had been. _Evidently, this is not my day for being popular._

“I fear I have made a poor impression with your friends, Rose,” he said, apologetically, when they were alone in the control room. “I’m truly sorry for that.”

“They are fortunate, Optimus,” she replied, sympathetically. “Unlike you and me, they have never had to wield power over others. I once craved that as avidly as this Megatron does – I was a fool – and the consequences have haunted me ever since. It is the dirtiest of things, almost impossible to wield with clean hands. Nothing is simple or pure anymore, every action is tainted one way or another. My friends have the noblest of spirits, but they do not understand power the way we do, and I doubt Stormbird does either, though of course neither she nor Pearl are wrong in hating injustice and dishonour. If I may ask … I realise you had to say what you did, with all of your troops assembled before you. To make them doubt their own cause could be disastrous. However …”

“Feel free to ask, Rose,” he urged, already suspecting what her tactfulness was dissuading her from asking directly, and he was not disappointed.

“Do you truly believe your ancient rulers did the right thing in trying to ‘cure’ your enemies of evil, against their will? You, who are so respectful of the opinions of your troops, that you felt the need to ask for volunteers before ordering an advance? It’s hardly your style, my friend.”

“I have asked myself that many times over the millennia … and you are right. If I am brutally honest, I think that the High Council, desperate as they were, shot themselves in the foot and handed Megatron the greatest gift, and the most fatal to Cybertron. Oh, I do not believe Megatron was ever a sincere ‘freedom fighter,’ but after the reformatting program was exposed, he was certainly able to sell himself as one. The Decepticons who returned from the wars had been socially disruptive and arguably dangerous, but there _were_ those who were more dutiful and honourable than others. Ironically, those were probably the only ones who were successfully duped into being ‘demobilised.’ The real criminals and renegades never even considered following that order. It may well be that all the Council achieved was to turn unrest into a full-blown civil war, and to purge the last few dregs of decency from the Decepticon cause.”

“As to that, Optimus, I can only hope you are wrong. I don’t know them of course, but I have sometimes known compassion to be found in the unlikeliest of places. However … if things are as dire as you say, perhaps you should take Stormbird as a blessing. I assume you don’t think she is devoid of all decency.”

“Of course not, but if you’re suggesting I simply return her to the Decepticons-” he began, with heartfelt disgust.

“Not immediately. You’re right to keep her out of the picture for now. When this is over, though, if it is her wish to return, I would seriously consider letting her. She may have meant it as a joke, but the role of ‘diplomat’ in this war may have been made for her. It needs one, badly. I thought the Gem War was hideously long and wasteful, but whole continents have shifted while your people have been decimating each other. A tragedy indeed, to see such wonderful, such beautiful beings as yourselves consumed by a hatred that has festered for over nine million years,” she remarked, to his acute embarrassment. _And here was I, thinking I was just an old, ugly, battle-scarred wreck._ “If she can serve to build any bridges at all, I’d be tempted to let her try, though I appreciate most if not all compromise must come from your enemies’ side.”

“Indeed, and I cannot say that I like the risk to her, either way. If they deem her useless to their purposes, the Decepticons wouldn’t hesitate to kill her. Worse, they might try to turn her into something like themselves.”

“Perhaps I am too quick to have faith, but I don’t think they will find that easy. Also, even in making the effort to change her, they would have to get to know and understand her better, and risk changing _themselves_ in the process. From everything you say, their minds could certainly use some opening. It’s dangerous for her, I don’t deny, but if she has the courage to face it … Anyway, she seems to have already made a friend among them. Hound may not find that encouraging, but I do.”

“Perhaps,” considered Optimus, very sceptically. _Soundwave, of all people. I suppose he is relatively senior, able to protect her somewhat … Also a cruel, jaded old fanatic with one dubious virtue to his name: loyalty to a leader who deserves none. I can appreciate Pearl’s dedication to chivalry, but even honour can become a reprehensible thing._ “Anyway, for now she will just have to take the time to reflect on whatever it is she wants of this new life, such as it is,” he declared, as Hound and Ironhide returned to the control room, now free of their charge. “Duty calls.”

“Duty calls, indeed. Err, would you think it rude, Optimus, if I asked for a ride?”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” he answered, while transforming into his lorry altmode. “Climb abroad, Rose. Hound, Ironhide: transform and roll out. With all due respect to human law, it’s high time we brought this miserable charade to an end.”

************

_Well, all good ruses come to an end, some sooner rather than later,_ thought Megatron, as he listened to Ravage’s transmission, but it was hard to take the philosophical view when potentially one of the best strategic advantages he had ever had was slipping away.

“How much longer?” he barked, for the benefit of both Scrapper and Soundwave, who were standing by the borehole in the cave and monitoring the progress of the drone.

“PROGRESS IS EXCELLENT,” replied Soundwave. “DRONE HAS ALREADY ACHIEVED A DEPTH OF 3.857 EARTH MILES. HOWEVER … ESTIMATE AT LEAST 2,000 ASTRO-SECONDS UNTIL RECOVERY OF OBJECTIVE … ASSUMING OBJECTIVE WILL STAND ROUGH HANDLING. IF IT MUST BE BROUGHT TO THE SURFACE DELICATELY, ESTIMATED RECOMMENDED RECOVERY TIME IS INCREASED BY-”

“I get the message,” he interrupted, bitterly.  _Curse them to the depths of Unicron, the Autobots could easily be upon us by then. We could scramble reinforcements … for whatever good that does. All the Autobots need is one clean shot on the objective, and this whole mission will have been a total waste of time and energy._ “Speed things up however you can. Work that drone to its limits, and never mind delicate handling. We’ll just have to take our chances and hope-”

“SUGGESTION, MEGATRON: ALLOW RAVAGE TO ACTIVATE STORMBIRD’S COMBAT CAPABILITIES. SHE COULD BUY US FURTHER TIME.”

“You are sure?” he asked, doubtfully. “Amusing as it was to hear her poking Optimus Prime right in his PTSD, I could wish for more definite signs of her conviction.”

“OBSERVATION: SHE HAS SHOWN CONVICTION TO THE MEASURE WE HAVE IN HER: EMPATHY, AND SHARED DISDAIN FOR PRIME, THE AUTOBOTS, AND THEIR HUMAN ALLIES. WE MUST NOW TAKE IT FURTHER: EMPOWER HER, LET HER KNOW UNEQUIVOCALLY WHO HER REAL FRIENDS ARE. SHE WILL RECIPROCATE.”

_A novel concept … but I suppose there’s little enough to lose now. We play for such high stakes, I might as well throw in my wild card._ “Where are you now, Ravage?” he asked, over Soundwave’s intercom.

“A room in the Ark, Megatron. Not even a proper holding cell. The fools have just locked us into a cabin. I could tear my way through that bulkhead with my bare claws, given time, but if you give Stormbird her weapons, she could reduce it to slag in microseconds, then we could take that Autobot filth in the rear. Just say the word.”

“A charming picture,” conceded Megatron, with a malicious smile. “Very well, Ravage. Let the bird fly.”

 


	5. Sturm und Drang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Crystal Gems and the Decepticons fight for possession of the valley's buried secrets, but the ancient owner of said secrets has other ideas.

_All these cool cars, and not one convertible among them,_ thought Garnet, a little wistfully, as the Autobot column sped through the desert, making far better time over the rough terrain than any genuine Earth-made vehicles could have done. Since Hound was the roomiest option available for someone of her height, she was lounging across both of his front seats, but Amethyst and Pearl had made a point of spurning the scout in favour of Sunstreaker,  _who, to be fair, is one cool car … and doesn’t currently have a massive stick up his shiny metal arse, of course._ All the same, there was very little conversation on the drive: only occasional, brief reports from Hound and Bumblebee in the vanguard, concerning the layout of the terrain ahead, advising caution where necessary, or suggesting course corrections.  _I’m not sensing a whole lot of enthusiasm for this mission, not to mention that pamphlet’s got them all either brooding or just plain pissed-off, depending on how perfect they really thought their ancestors were. Guess it serves them right for accusing Stormbird of being a criminal without knowing the facts – we needn’t have even mentioned the thing otherwise – but I only hope this mood isn’t going to affect their morale when we actually … That can’t be good,_ she thought, as the column ascended the slope of a mesa and, looking back along the route they had come, she noticed a curious dust devil bearing down on them. Still distant, but approaching fast, it was following a nearly direct line along their tyre tracks, and it had a small, dark dot at its centre, spinning rapidly. Hound’s attention was entirely focused on the way ahead, and she could make little sense of his dashboard scanner readouts in any case.  _Just as well I’ve got my own,_ she thought, while closing two of her eyes, but leaving the third, violet-shaded eye open, and letting her focus drift from the present moment and along the river of possibilities …

 

_The F-15 jet was both spinning wildly on its own axis and tracing a corkscrew-shaped flight path. One might have assumed it was out of control, but its overall course was a true as a rifle shot, and heading in their direction. Behind it, its tempestuous slipstream was whipping up the desert sands into eddies as tall as apartment blocks. It was due to pass overhead in just a few seconds …_

 

_Garnet does nothing._

 

_Stormbird screamed overhead. Uncertain how best to react, the Autobot column went into minor disarray, some of them stopping, some of them swerving, and some of them firing a few utterly ineffective shots in her direction. Suddenly, her slipstream hit them. Smaller Autobots were lifted right off their wheels, upended, or sent rolling down the slope, and even Optimus Prime was knocked on his side, his huge trailer acting like a sail to catch the hurricane-force wind. Before they could regain any semblance of order, Stormbird had stabilised her flight, come around a three-quarter circle, and was preparing to strafe them from the side. Bursts of pinkish neon plasma fired rapidly from her wing pods …_

 

_Ouch. Okay, maybe not that one. Let’s try …_

 

_Garnet shouts “Quick, transform!”_

 

_Stormbird screamed overhead, just after the Autobot column had transformed back into their humanoid modes. When the slipstream hit them, some of them lost their footing, but most were quick enough to find some way to improve their traction, by clutching rocks or tree trunks or larger, heavier Autobots; by hunkering down and lowering their centre of gravity; or by more exotic means: Trailbreaker covered himself and nearby Autobots with a dome-shaped force field, while Ironhide sprayed a glue-like substance from his arm nozzles to coat the nearby terrain. What could have been a hopeless chaos was turned into a minor inconvenience, and although Stormbird – realising her failure all too late – attempted to change course and soar for the safety of the higher ground, she had lost the initiative. Many Autobots had not only kept their equilibrium but had even managed to draw their sidearms and deploy their built-in weapons. Caught in their barrage, and hit in several places, she tumbled out of her flight path, transforming as she fell, and hit the ground in a disorderly tangle. She stirred weakly as Hound approached her, his rifle trained upon her …_

 

_Hmm. Didn’t much like the ending, but still …_

 

“Quick, transform!” shouted Garnet.

“You what?” asked Hound, in confusion. “What are you- ?”

“Do as she says!” ordered Rose, from Optimus’ cab.

“Do as they s-” confirmed Optimus, only to be cut off by the scream of jet engines. Garnet just had time to roll all three of her eyes before the hurricane hit them.

_Then, of course, there’s always the future when Garnet does her thing, but no-one pays her a blind bit of notice. I do wish that one wasn’t so popular._

Half-transformed as many of the Autobots now were, the resulting disorder was only exacerbated, as many of them could do nothing whatsoever to stop themselves from getting buffeted every which way. As Stormbird came around for her strafing run, none of them were in a position to fight back, and she landed several true shots, to a disharmonious chorus of robotic curses and popping tyres. Optimus Prime was the first to regain both his footing and his aim, and he would have fired back, but his laser rifle was knocked from his hand in no doubt an extremely painful fashion, as an explosive projectile slammed into his right arm. Following the missile’s smoke trail, Garnet saw its source to be a large, cybernetic, feline-looking creature that was flying after Stormbird, its legs splayed out in a not-especially-aerodynamic fashion and with another missile mounted on its left flank.  _Something you don’t see every day …_ Powerglide, who had been travelling in Optimus’ trailer and had only just managed to clamber out of it, transformed into his altmode and manoeuvred to engage the incongruous airborne cat. The creature attempted to evade him, but its aerial speed and agility was no match for the Autobot jet, and he suffered a direct hit on his rear left leg from Powerglide’s nose-mounted laser. The feline faltered; gave a hissing, metallic screech of pain; and seemed on the verge of dropping out of its low flight path altogether, but by now Stormbird had noticed her colleague’s distress, and had come around for yet another pass. Other Autobots had now drawn guns, but before they could get a good aim she launched an air-to-ground rocket from her wing mounting. It struck the earth in the midst of the column, scoring a hit on no-one, but blanketing the whole area in a dense white mist. For several seconds, Garnet could see very little beyond a few feet away from where she had fallen. Hound, in hazy silhouette, was now on his feet and firing random laser blasts into the air, but the only evidence anyone had been hit was the sound of Powerglide crying out in pain from somewhere overhead. Whether this was Stormbird’s doing or friendly fire seemed just as likely given the confusion.

As the wind thinned out the chemical smoke, the embarrassing extent of Stormbird’s damage became clear. Almost half of the Autobots in the now very disorderly column were clutching their arms or their sides in pain, including Optimus, while a number of smaller Autobots had been sent rolling down the mesa and were trudging back up in robot mode, some of them hobbling on twisted limbs: probably the result of their belated attempts to transform while already caught in the whirlwind. Powerglide had come back to earth in an all-too-literal sense: he was still in his altmode, his nose buried deep in a sandy patch of ground he had been ‘lucky’ enough to locate just before what had clearly been a very impromptu emergency landing. His right wing was charred and smoking. Rose, Amethyst, and Pearl, by contrast, had all managed to locate each other and recover their poise, and they stood in the midst of the cybernetic carnage surveying it with mixed emotions. Rose appeared sad and troubled, Pearl anxious, and Amethyst tactlessly gleeful.

“ _Woah_ , dudes,” declared Amethyst, with awe and a distinct absence of sympathy. “She completely kicked your butts!”

“She ambushed us!” complained Ironhide, while using his left arm nozzle to dispense a thick, oily liquid into his right hand. As he continued talking, he smeared this over his singed hubcaps like a salve. “Why, if she hadn’t had the element of surprise-”

“She didn’t … exactly,” pointed out Garnet, reproachfully.

“Face it man, she totally whipped you,” said Amethyst, her joy undaunted. “Woo! Way to go, Stormy!” she called out after the long-departed Decepticon jet.

“Amethyst, are you  _celebrating_ our prisoner escaping?” asked Pearl, incredulously, although with only mild disapproval, at least by her standards.

“Well …  _kind of_ , Pearl. I mean, we didn’t want them taking her prisoner in the first place, did we?”

“Granted, but the  _mission_ … Since this lot couldn’t be bothered winning her trust, we can be certain she’ll fly straight to the Decepticons. There goes  _our_ element of surprise.”

“Undoubtedly,” agreed Rose, “though I hope everyone here took note that she didn’t shoot to kill, nor even to seriously injure. Only to immobilise.”

“Err, my wing?” said Powerglide, who had now managed to transform and extricate himself from the ground, dented and dusty for his trouble.

“Be fair, you  _were_ trying to kill her flying robot kitty,” pointed out Amethyst, matter-of-factly. “I’d have totally done the same.”

“Rose Quartz has a point,” agreed Optimus, rather magnanimously considering he was nursing a badly maimed arm. “Her attack was merciful by Decepticon standards. Also effective. We now have a stark choice between arriving late, or arriving with reduced forces, and whatever state we arrive in, we know they will have had advance warning of our attack.”

“You guys can’t just auto-repair your burst tyres, or something? Seems kind of lame.”

“Unfortunately, no. We can heal most minor wounds as long as they are on integral components, but tyres are more like shoes: just extra insulation. We can no more heal them than you could heal your clothing.”

“That’s all  _you_ know,” said Garnet, wryly. “You must carry some spare tyres, though.”

“Not enough for everyone. Her marksmanship was disturbingly accurate for a rookie Decepticon. Where she learned to shoot so well, I can’t imagine.”

“Given the insane weapon laws in this country, it’s a wonder everyone can’t,” remarked Pearl, peevishly. “Well then, I suppose we’ll just have to make do after all. Can  _anyone_ here fly?”

“I can,” said Tracks, transforming back into his blue Chevrolet altmode, its elegance somewhat marred by the two ragged, deflated tyres on his left side. He deployed small white wings from underneath his rear chassis, and twin air rudders from the back of his roof. “I have to warn you, though, I’m only a two-seater.”

“Looks like it’s Amethyst-bot to the rescue, then,” announced Amethyst, whereupon she glowed a dazzling white and shape-shifted into the form of a chubby purple open-cockpit helicopter with an enlarged version of her face upon its front. She punctuated this transformation with some staccato ‘mechanical’ vocalisations in imitation of their allies, while Pearl cringed. “Hop aboard, Rose, Garnet. Pearl, you can take the posh Chevy guy. He kind of suits you, anyway.”

“Gladly, and since I don’t suppose you thought to shape-shift yourself a radar system,  _we’ll_ lead and navigate,” replied Pearl, stiffly, as she climbed aboard the winged Corvette. “Thank you for this, incidentally,” she added, for Tracks’ benefit.

“My pleasure, but with only me and Mirage as backup – assuming the Decepticons haven’t caught him yet – you’re not exactly looking at the best odds of victory when we arrive,” pointed out Tracks. “Are you quite sure you want- ?”

“We can hold our own,” said Garnet, resolutely. “Don’t you worry about us, Tracks. The rest of you lot, catch up whenever you can. Reinforcements or not, if either Megatron or Zultanite think they’re getting an easy ride of it, there’s another think coming their way.”

************

Soundwave’s detectors picked up Stormbird’s approach before any of the Decepticons got a visual on her. Megatron, Starscream, and Soundwave gathered on the floor of the valley, by the now-useless and otherwise abandoned fake borehole with its handsome – albeit pointless – stack of fake energon cubes, to greet her upon arrival. She banked left as she entered the valley and descended, her course steady and true as she approached them.  _She appears undamaged,_ thought Megatron. _Promising, as long as she didn’t just completely funk it and leave the Autobots to go on their merry … What in Primus’ name?_ She was transforming in mid-air as she approached them, while Ravage ejected from her cockpit and proceeded on foot, his gait slightly less agile than usual. Unsurprisingly, he made straight for Soundwave, who knelt down to greet him. Stormbird, however, was making straight for Megatron, still flying, with both her arms reaching out as if in some desperate plea.  _Was she damaged after all? Are her retros malfunctioning? She sounds half-crazed. What- ?_ Before he could solve the mystery, she barrelled right into him, wrapped both her arms around his torso, and wheeled him around several times, laughing ecstatically, before he could recover the presence of mind to bring her – and himself – to a standstill. Even so, she continued to talk, or at least to babble euphorically:

“Ohmygodohmygodyouguysarethe _best_ ! That was the greatest thrill of my life! Thank you, thank you so much! You should have seen it when I-”

“Yes, well … Pleased though I am that you enjoyed your first taste of power,” interrupted Megatron, awkwardly extricating himself from the embarrassing hug and trying to avoid Starscream’s eyes, “I’d appreciate a report on the Autobots’ status. Were you able to delay them?”

“Sorry, Leader,” she replied, collecting herself as best she could. “Yes, I did my best. I think I immobilised a fair few of them … after I hit them with a  _freaking sideways hurricane_ !”

“You approve of your unique upgrade, Seeker?” asked Starscream, rhetorically and haughtily. “My own innovation, of course. I’ve been saving that one for some time. I had intended to install it on myself, but-”

“One unique upgrade per soldier, you know the rule,” cut in Megatron, severely. “Rectifier chips don’t grow on trees. If you’re willing to give up your precious null-rays, then by all means.”

“That was your idea? C’mere, you!” said Stormbird, happily, while launching herself at Starscream and subjecting him to the same treatment she had given Megatron, to his evident discomfort.  _I pity Soundwave when it’s his turn. Public displays of affection were never his … but I think he has other things on his mind,_ observed Megatron, as Soundwave was paying no attention at all to the scene, but was carefully examining Ravage’s rear left leg. Looking closely, Megatron could now see that it had suffered a recent wound. His auto-repair system had mostly fixed the damage to the actuator, but the surrounding metal was still charred and warped.

“QUERY: WHICH AUTOBOT DID THIS?” asked Soundwave, with just the subtlest inflection of danger in his tone, then he looked up and pointed skywards. “WAS IT HIM?” Megatron followed the line of his gaze and saw a distant but familiar blue vehicle in a descending flight path: an Earth car, but with an incongruous pair of rear-mounted wings.  _That pretentious fool Tracks. This ought to be amusing, if brief._

“No, it was some little red bastard,” answered Stormbird, her tone slightly chastened.  _She did not realise she had been followed. We must have a chat about proper scanning protocols, one of these days._ “I took care of that one, but … I’m so sorry, I didn’t know they had a flying car.”

“No apologies necessary, my dear,” Megatron assured her, while priming his fusion cannon.  _Then again, perhaps I should let Soundwave dismember the wretched poser, if he’d find it cathartic._ “I’m sure we can deal with this in very short … What on Cybertron is  _that_ ?” Another aircraft had appeared over the edge of the valley, but it was no Autobot,  _or at least not one with the slightest vestige of pride. Earth altmodes are absurd enough at the best of times, but that’s something special._ It was a squat purple rotorcraft, but instead of cockpit windows it had a huge, goofy face mounted upon the front of its fuselage. Autobot or not, it followed the flight path of Tracks closely, both of them coming to earth roughly a quarter of a mile down the valley from the waiting Decepticons. When they were stationary, three bizarrely dressed human women disembarked from the vehicles.  _Actually, make that humanoid,_ decided Megatron, as the rotorcraft suddenly glowed, sparkled, reduced in mass, and changed into a fourth, equally disconcerting figure. Other than gender, there was little in appearance to unite these garish, motley entities, but one common element Megatron noticed was that each of them had a large gemstone seemingly embedded into their very flesh, or in the case of the tall, dark-skinned woman, one in each of her hands.  _Ten to one, our mysterious silicon-based aliens have come to stake a claim on their ancient ruins. Tragic … for them,_ he thought, contemptuously, as they approached, while Tracks transformed and stayed back to cover their rear. Whatever strange tricks these creatures possessed, they did not look at all formidable, and if they expected a Cybertronian to be awestruck by simple transformation, it said more for their ignorance than for their lethality. As their expressions became closer and clearer, however, it was hard for him not to be both impressed and bemused. In spite of their apparent smallness and frailty, there was not a trace of fear in their faces.  _If it’s a bluff, one must concede it to be a damn good one. Thank Primus I needn’t trouble myself to make guesses._

“How do they scan, Soundwave?” he asked.

“SPECTROSCOPIC SCAN WILDLY AT VARIANCE WITH VISUAL DATA,” reported Soundwave. “INFERENCE: HIGH-ENERGY HOLOGRAPHIC PROJECTIONS, NO ANALOGOUS STRUCTURES TO KNOWN CYBERNETIC OR ORGANIC LIFEFORMS. FOURIER ANALYSIS OF BETA WAVE ACTIVITY SUGGESTS HIGH CONFIDENCE AND COURAGE. CAUTION HIGHLY ADVISABLE.”

“Yeah, that sounds like us,” said the dark-skinned woman, with a small but menacing half-smile, as they drew near. “Guess you must be Soundwave, right?”

“ASSUMPTION CORRECT. HOW DID YOU- ?”

“Little bird might have mentioned you were the one with the sexy voice.”

“YOU FLATTER ME,” deadpanned Soundwave, casting a very brief, inscrutable glance at Stormbird, who lowered her eyes in embarrassment, although she quickly gathered her wits and at least made a game effort to alleviate the general confusion:

“Sorry, maybe I should be introducing everyone. Err, these are the ‘Crystal Gems,’ Leader,” she announced, indicating the strange women who now stood but a few metres away. Even the tallest among them did not come to even half of Megatron’s height, but it still did nothing whatsoever to compromise their proud demeanour. “This is Garnet, Amethyst, Pearl, and Rose, who I  _think_ is their leader, but don’t quote me on-”

“As if it matters,” snapped Starscream, impetuously, while levelling his arm rifle upon the thoroughly unimpressed-looking aliens. “She’s given her last order, in any-”

“Patience, Starscream,” interrupted Megatron. “I’m at least curious enough to ask what it is they want here,”  _not to mention that playing for time is still the best strategy until our objective is recovered, for as long as we can get away with it._

“Well, according to them, the oil well was just a hoax,” continued Stormbird. “From what I gather, Dr. Stendahl’s actually discovered some sort of alien tech buried here, and-”

“We know that, Stormbird. A weapon of some ancient empire, no doubt far too powerful to be left for your corrupt human government to help itself to, and we know the Autobots will do nothing to prevent them. Far better that we Decepticons should have it, bring this wasteful war to a swift end, and impose our firm but fair order on this benighted planet … do you not concur?”

“I … Yes, Leader,” she answered, forcing back uncertainty, but sounding more sure of herself with each word, much to Megatron’s satisfaction. “Humanity can’t even use its own technology responsibly, that’s for certain. If anyone should have access to this weapon-”

“It is not a weapon,” declared Rose, gravely. “It is an abomination.”

“In my experience, alien, it is remarkable how often those two threads coincide,” replied Megatron. “You’ll have to be far more explicit than  _that_ if you hope to dissuade me from taking it, though I don’t advise optimism in any case.”

“Explicit? I could be … but your enemies hold you in such evil repute, I’m afraid that might only spur you on.”

“How interesting. Well,  _that_ certainly didn’t dissuade me, or did you imagine I was the sort of robot who constantly agonises about his reputation with Autobot scrap?”

“I dared to hope. Since you do have devoted followers, it would be pleasant to think of you as the kind of leader who doesn’t let ambition cloud your reason. Still, if you force us to-”

“Waste of time, Rose,” cut in Amethyst, while moving away from her comrades and approaching the Decepticons, and Stormbird in particular. “We’re not going to talk them down from this. It’s going to be a battle or nothing, and  _you’re_ going to have to fight  _me_ ,” she informed Stormbird, her tone and posture both aggressive. To her credit, Stormbird did not look afraid at this challenge, but decidedly crestfallen.  _Don’t disappoint me. Cold feet now would be a very bad career move, my dear._ She managed to pull herself together, though, albeit with reluctance.

“If I have to, Amethyst,” she said, sadly, “but I do wish you’d-”

“No more talk! It’s rumble time, but I’ve gotta warn you, girl: I am one mean, tough hunk of quartz. If you want any hope of beating me, you’re going to have to pull out the big guns.”

“The ‘big guns?’ What are you- ?”

“The  _tornado thing_ , Stormy! Hit me with the tornado thing!” Amethyst practically ordered, while stepping off some distance, presumably in case her friends did not wish to join her in this questionable strategy. Judging from Rose’s indulgent smile, Garnet’s amused head-shaking, and Pearl’s exasperated eye-rolling, her assumption was accurate. When she felt she had created a decent enough safety margin, Amethyst turned back to face Stormbird and shape-shifted her arms into flat, angled paddles, rather like the blades of a sycamore seed. “Come on now, do your worst, I dare you!”

“All right Amethyst,” replied Stormbird, in a playful, mock-threatening tone. “You asked for it,” whereupon she transformed, starting spinning so fast on her central axis that she was no more than a conical blur, then launched herself at Amethyst in a spiralling flight path, churning up the air so turbulently that even Megatron felt his balance momentarily endangered. When the dust had cleared, however, it was apparent that everyone had managed to keep their footing, with the obvious exceptions of Stormbird, who was circling skywards, and Amethyst, who was currently a whirling, insanely giggling purple dot in her slipstream. As they wheeled higher, and the laughter faded away, Megatron watched with bewilderment.

“I’m … confused, Starscream,” he admitted, prosaically. “Would you say that  _counts_ as fighting, in any meaningful sense?”

“Well, look on the bright side,” said Pearl, with the widest, falsest smile imaginable. “If nothing else, it’s rendered Amethyst  _completely and utterly useless for any combat purposes, thanks for nothing you irresponsible reprobate_ !” she shrieked furiously after the departing F-15, almost certainly to no effect, as it was now so distant that not even its engines were audible.

“Your subordinate?” asked Starscream, sneeringly. “It seems to me that she has little respect for your authority. That says something for her intelligence, at any rate.”

“Hah!  _You_ can talk, so-called Air Commander! That  _was_ your Seeker she just roped into that ill-timed frivolity, was it not? Clearly, you’ve got your own troops about as well disciplined as a swarm of drunken Centipeetles!”

“You insolent germ!” screeched Starscream, aiming his blaster again. “You’ll pay for that,” but no sooner had the null-ray left the gun barrel, than Pearl had taken a straight leap into the air, with unbelievable speed and height, narrowly avoiding the shot. Somersaulting at the apex of her jump, several metres over the valley floor and even the heads of the Decepticons, she suddenly drew or perhaps just manifested a pale, glowing, blade-tipped spear, seemingly from nowhere. As she descended, she swung this weapon in a savage arc, and although Starscream attempted to turn and defend himself, he was not quick enough to prevent it from slashing across his left wing, occasioning a shower of sparks and a piercing scream of pain. Before he could recover any semblance of dignity, Pearl had leapt backwards, while firing white energy blasts from her spear’s tip. They struck him high on the chest, causing no serious damage, but knocking him to the ground. Having allowed herself a satisfied smirk, his opponent darted for the higher ground, while Starscream hauled himself back to his feet, shooting both null-rays and venom in her wake:

“Mutilate my wing, would you, you alien scum? Wretched, cowardly insect! Stay still! I’ll reduce you to rock dust before I’m through!”

“You and whose army, Flyboy?” were Pearl’s last clear words, as the two of them sped off in the opposite direction that Stormbird and Amethyst had taken, trading curses and plasma bolts in an evasive and thoroughly ill-tempered battle.  _I think my money’s on her, but no matter, as long as Starscream can keep her occupied for awhile. By my reckoning, it’s mere minutes until the drone completes the recovery operation, then we can be away with our prize._ In the other direction, Tracks was no longer merely standing guard, but was now taking cover behind some stunted trees while trading laser shots with the three Constructicons who were not currently guarding the drilling site. He seemed to be receiving some supporting fire from further up the valley slopes, suggesting that Mirage was at least contemplating coming out of hiding to join the battle in earnest.  _One could wish for a less even match, but I’m confident we can hold our own for as long as we need. What tricks do these two have, I wonder?_ he thought, turning his attention back to Rose and Garnet.

“Well, everyone else seems to be picking their dance partners,” said Garnet, nonchalantly. “What say you and me, Soundwave,  _mano a mano_ ?” she proposed, while materialising a pair of heavy metallic gauntlets upon her fists. “I reckon that ought to be quite interesting.”

“INDEED? CLARIFY.”

“The little bird also mentioned that you read minds, which you’d  _think_ would give you a big advantage, but you know what I’ve got? Future vision. So, as you can imagine, a battle between the two of us-”

“WOULD BE AS MUCH A CHALLENGE OF SECOND-GUESSING AS OF ACTUAL COMBAT PROWESS. INTRIGUING. NEVERTHELESS, LOGICAL EXTRAPOLATION INDICATES A NARROW BUT DECISIVE VICTORY … IN MY FAVOUR.”

“Spoken like a true warrior,” she replied, once again wearing that subtle but deadly smile. “Bring it on.”

While the pair of them duelled in extremely curious fashion – trading fast and skilful punches that almost invariably failed to even slightly connect – Megatron turned back to Rose, and saw that she had drawn a sword. It was a straight-bladed sabre with a pink hilt, and no electronics or tech of any kind, yet it was no primitive Earth weapon. With his eyes fully zoomed on the blade, and scanning through various vision modes, Megatron could see that the metal it was forged from was of the highest quality, and the workmanship faultless, the blade so sharp that it had no need of enhancements to be a legitimate threat to Cybertronian skin.  _Nevertheless, a foolishly quaint move on her part. Soundwave may be morbidly attached to honour, but I shed that futile habit aeons ago._

“Shall we, Megatron?” she asked, courteously but dangerously. “If we must solve this by violence, I’m quite prepared.”

“Gladly,” he answered, “but before we commence, Rose … did you ever hear the one about the Crystal Gem who brought a sword to a gunfight?”

“No, but I think I can guess how it ends,” she said, with a ripple of light, ironic laughter. “With my blade at your neck.”

_Well, so much for diplomacy. Never my thing anyway,_ thought Megatron, as he discharged his fusion cannon at full power. When the magenta cloud of plasma residue had cleared, however, he saw Rose standing both unmoved and unharmed, protected behind a magnificent pink energon shield she had materialised over her right arm; round and convex, with a spiralling pattern. As if this was not an impressive enough display of power, she followed it up by glowing white and increasing in size, until she had reached a stature almost equal to Megatron’s. As the glow faded away, it briefly seemed that he saw her with a changed aspect: a lithe figure in strange, regal clothing, with a shock of pale pink hair and large purple eyes, full of passion and fury. The impression was fleeting, but somehow profoundly disturbing. Much as it was not something he ever cared to admit, even to himself, this entity fell squarely within the ‘worthy enemy’ category.

“Fair enough, then,” he declared, resignedly, while retracting his right hand into his arm. When it was fully recessed, he summoned his flail into existence at the end of his wrist: a great, spiked ball of glowing energon, hanging from a chain and shaft of the same transient, computer-generated, yet solid and lethal substance. “That  _would_ have been too easy, after all.”

“So glad you agree, Megatron,” said Rose, drawing back her sword and raising her shield. “Now, if you’ll excuse the melodrama … have at you!”

************

Kayser Petrochemicals’ Security Chief Cullen entered the large, off-road RV from the side door, and stood awkwardly to attention just within the threshold, while a warm breeze whistled past him, ruffled papers, and rattled the equipment on the benches. Zultanite sighed in exasperation.  _Humans … Always so jittery, and so thoughtless._

“Will you please close the door, Cullen?” she asked, insistently. “This is supposed to be a laboratory. I’d appreciate not filling it with half of the desert.”

“Sorry, Dr. Stendahl, ma’am,” he apologised, no less awkwardly, hastily closing the door behind him. “We’ve just heard back from the recon patrol, though. I thought you’d want to know: there  _is_ fighting in the valley, only …”

“Let me guess: Autobots,”  _curse them. Prime’s curiosity must have gotten the better of his scruples after all. That really complicates things. I could let them fight it out, but if the Catalyser is destroyed in the process, this will all have been for nothing._

“That’s the weird thing, ma’am. Our boys counted maybe a couple of Autobots, but apparently most of the fighting was being done by … Well, it sure sounds dumb to say it, but-”

“Four ludicrously dressed Amazons who look like they just failed a Hot Gossip audition, am I getting warm?”

“Not their  _exact_ words, but still … How the hell could you have known that, Doctor? Were you expecting them?”

_‘Dreading’ would be the more apposite word._ “They’re well-known troublemakers,” was all she considered wise to admit to her subordinate, however.  _Not that he’d believe me if I told him the truth, anyway, but now would be a horribly ironic time to be dragged back to D.C. in a straitjacket. Damn those meddling defectives. That settles it, then: we daren’t lose any more time, whatever the danger. If Rose Quartz knows of the Catalyser, every second we waste risks its destruction._ “Get your men ready, Cullen. We move out as soon as possible … I trust that order was clear enough,” she added, pointedly, in deference to his hesitation and the nauseous look of anxiety that had crossed his face.  _Small wonder, to be fair. That was not a sane order, on the face if it, if only he knew my intentions …_

“We’ll do our duty, ma’am,” he assured her, with grim resignation, “but I’ve gotta tell you … we’re not likely to last more than a few seconds against Decepticons. We’re packing small arms, flashbangs, nothing that’s even going to put a scratch on them. We ain’t exactly a military unit … and I’m not even sure a military unit would stand up to those metal bastards.  _We_ sure as hell won’t.”

_Oh, but you will, my friend. Just a little daring and perseverance, and all will become clear,_ but she kept that thought close to her chest as she replied: “Don’t concern yourself. I’ve no intention of going in shooting, but I do want to go in _soon_. Make it happen.” With all due reluctance and bewilderment, Cullen saluted and left the RV. When she had her privacy again, Zultanite reached under one of the lab benches, pulled out a high-security aluminium travel case with a combination lock, and caressed its cold, ridged surface affectionately. _But a little more patience, my beautiful creation, key to my power. To think I once thought to make a gift of you to Blue Diamond … Who needs the Diamonds? They would have gladly left me to corrupt into some pitiful, deranged monster, like the rest of those devoted fools they abandoned here. One day, I shall make them pay dearly for that … but first things first,_ she thought, as the RV’s engine revved into action again. _One last, audacious move I need to play in this game … Let’s just hope I have not been over-generous in my calculations of Decepticon greed and stupidity._

 


	6. Thorn in My Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Decepticons almost have victory within their grasp, but Zultanite has other ideas ... and either way, the future of the human race is looking decidedly unappealing.

Hard-pressed though Soundwave was to hold his own again Garnet – even without her future vision, she would no doubt have made a fast and formidable opponent – he had monitored the general state of the battle with what little attention he could spare from his personal duel, and the signs were encouraging. While Megatron and Starscream continued to fight fiercely but inconclusively with their respective Gems, the situation was otherwise changing fast. Stormbird must have realised that keeping Amethyst occupied was perhaps not the most productive use of her capabilities – or someone had made a point of telling her – since she had disengaged from that questionable ‘single combat’ and was instead making regular strafing runs on Tracks and Mirage, flushing them out of any cover they tried to lay claim to. Although this did leave the Constructicons with the additional problem of having to contend with Amethyst – who had manifested a three-tailed black whip studded with purple crystals, which she was currently using to swing Bonecrusher around her head like a very large, loud, and unhappy athletics hammer – it was mitigated by the fact that all six Constructicons were finally on the battlefield. Not only did that leave the two Autobots badly beleaguered, _but it must also mean that the drone has finished its recovery operation. Excellent. Then all we need do is press home our advantage a little longer, just until we can spare someone – preferably Starscream or Stormbird – to grab the objective and fly it back to base. Actually, better make that Stormbird,_ he reflected. _Not quite as fast, perhaps, but definitely more trustworthy if given sole possession of a mysterious alien super-wea- … Ouch,_ he mentally added, as a no doubt holographic but still very hard and heavy gauntlet collided with his midriff. He hastily rerouted his errant mental subroutines back to the far more important task of monitoring Garnet’s psychic rhythms, and managing his own defences accordingly. _Serves me right. There’s a time for mental multitasking, and this isn’t it. Still, she wasn’t wrong when she said it would be an interesting combat._ Autobots were competent if unenthusiastic fighters, but these Gems were true battlefield artists. _Megatron’s probably enjoying this far more than he’ll ever admit, not that he wouldn’t enjoy victory even more. He shouldn’t have long to-_

“Please! Wait!” It was Stormbird who had shouted these two plaintive words, both so piercingly that she drew the attention of the whole battlefield. When Soundwave turned to look – something he could now safely do, as Garnet had suddenly broken off their duel, her emotions switching from focused determination to extreme anxiety in an instant – what he initially saw was not at all enlightening. In the middle distance, Amethyst stood amidst a tableau of unfortunate Constructicons: Scrapper and Long Haul were both horizontal and stirring feebly, almost certainly having been clobbered with Bonecrusher, who was still tangled up in Amethyst’s whip and looking very battered and leaky. Currently, though, he was enjoying some relief, as the whip was hanging limp in her hand, and her expression was one of dismay. Tracks and Mirage were faring no better: both damaged and de-energised, they were lying inert, effectively out of the battle, while the remaining three Constructicons, having avoided Amethyst’s powerful but less-than-strategic attacks, had made it past their faltering line of defence, _but to what end?_ In the foreground stood Megatron and Rose, no longer duelling, but with their attention drawn to the same spot as everyone else’s: for between them and the Constructicons, Starscream and Stormbird were facing each other. The former was standing, and looking down with an expression of malice, while Stormbird was crouched down and gazing up at him with a desperate, pleading look, her right hand planted on the ground in front of her. Pearl was nowhere to be seen. _I could make an educated guess what’s happened, but why bother guessing?_ thought Soundwave, and turned his mental scan upon Starscream’s recent memories …

 

_Fighting this accursed alien was like fighting a hyperactive shadow. However well-aimed his null-rays, Pearl always managed to be elsewhere in the few microseconds the beams took to reach her, not that it was easy to fix a good aim while trying to dodge her regular energy blasts and sneak attacks. Attempting to predict or compensate for her capricious strikes was proving impossible, to say nothing of infuriating. Starscream was under no illusions that but for his superior speed and agility, Megatron would long ago have written off his less-than-loyal air commander as a liability rather than a qualified asset, and now this impish hologram was making him look about as agile as a headless sentinel drone in a vat of congealed lubricant, taunting him. Any hope of sustaining his reputation after this was looking distinctly unlikely._

_Suddenly, Pearl broke off the duel and darted away in a completely random direction. Confused, he watched her departure, and was heartily, if cynically amused to see the mystery solved: three of the Constructicons had been attempting to sneak up on the chief alien, who was still duelling with Megatron. Pearl, having evidently noticed this, and terrified for her leader’s safety, was rushing to defend her, heedless of her own safety. Heroic nonsense par excellence … Never one to miss such a blatant opportunity, Starscream levelled his rifle at Pearl’s back and fired. As the energy-disrupting beam struck her, lines of force lit up on her body, like a circuit pattern, then she underwent a series of rapid, uncoordinated shape-shifts, including bizarre, inhuman, and hybrid forms. Finally, her over-stressed holographic body dissolved in a puff of white mist, and her smooth, clear white gemstone fell to the ground. Starscream flew up a short distance in robot mode, and angled his right foot in readiness for a swift, crushing descent upon the helpless, inert alien. As he was closing in for the kill, however, Stormbird suddenly intervened, placing her hand protectively over the fallen gemstone …_

 

 _That explains that, then,_ thought Soundwave, grimly. It would certainly win Starscream no awards for valour, but Soundwave could not fault his comrade’s pragmatism. _Pearl has only herself to blame. That was elevating loyalty to the point of insanity._ He distantly, and uncomfortably recalled there was a time when he might have done the same thing for Megatron, but he quickly suppressed that thought. _Speaking of suicidal loyalties, though, I fear Stormbird may have just sacrificed her career, to say the least._ He toyed with the idea of simply pulling her away from Pearl, but it was already too late to gloss things over so easily. Everyone, including Megatron, was watching intently, and Starscream was positively staring laser daggers at the rebellious Seeker.

“Side with these aliens, would you, you traitorous hag?” hissed Starscream, in his best ‘hysterical chalkboard’ tone. “Filthy, mutinous ingrate! I knew you weren’t to be-”

“I was only thinking of the objective, sir,” Stormbird lied, desperation dripping off every syllable. “These Crystal Gems obviously have the strongest loyalties for each other, and time is still of the essence. By using this one as a hostage-”

“ _Excellent_ thinking, Stormbird,” interrupted Megatron, smugly, while pushing her aside and picking up Pearl’s gem. “We’ll make a terrorist of you yet.” This ‘compliment’ had no doubt the effect it was intended to: Stormbird looked even more despondent and ashamed. Rose, however, having cast a disgusted glance at Megatron, turned to the downcast Seeker with a gentle and sympathetic air.

“Thank you, Stormbird. I’m pleased _one_ of you understands the power of mercy.”

“Foolish sophistry, Rose. You disappoint me,” declared Megatron. “Her mercy would be powerless without _my_ ruthlessness. Now, unless you wish to see me grind your idiotic lackey to powder, you will order your forces – such as they are – to stand down and vacate this area immediately. I assume we have the objective by now?” he asked, turning to those Constructicons who were still in a state to answer him coherently.

“Yes, Megatron, for what it’s worth,” answered Hook, indifferently, while passing his leader a curious, rifle-like artefact. It would have been practically a heavy weapon in human hands, but it was small enough for Megatron to wield single-handedly. Its cylindrical body was of silvery metal, embossed with alien glyphs, and with a smoky glass panel that displayed its interior workings: tubes and sacs that seemed more organic than machine. Its front end bore a tapering arrangement of clear crystal disks, like the focusing elements of some energy weapon. “That’s the energy source we detected, and the only thing the drone could find worth recovering. Just rubble and broken equipment, otherwise. Somewhat of an anticlimax, after all this effort.”

“Yet undoubtedly worthy of study, and the fact that these aliens clearly don’t want us to have it is all the qualification I need,” he replied, and the hopeless, defeated expressions of the remaining Gems made for excellent supporting evidence. “Time we were away, and I remind you, Rose: any further attempt to delay or follow us, and I need only rub my fingers together for your friend to-”

“ALERT, MEGATRON,” interrupted Soundwave, and he pointed up the valley to where he had just noticed a line of figures descending on foot. It was a large group of humans, chiefly consisting of a platoon of black-uniformed figures. They were wielding primitive small-calibre firearms, and the golden badges each of them wore on their breast pockets were styled like the letter ‘K’ over a five-pointed crown. The only exception was their apparent leader: a dark-haired, middle-aged woman in civilian clothing, unarmed but carrying a metal case. Curiously, she was the only member of the party who did not appear on the verge of voiding her waste expulsion systems from sheer terror, even as she called the group to a halt well within firing range of the Decepticons. No shots were fired, though. For now, everyone was content to stare at this apparent act of mass suicide in bewilderment, until Stormbird broke the silence, addressing their leader:

“Dr. Stendahl?”

“Do I know you?” asked the woman, haughtily and disinterestedly.

“Not as such. I did attend one of your lectures at CCIT, though that was before you sold out to Big Oil, weird secret agendas or no. Still, I don’t suppose you’d remember me any-”

“Oh my … So _you’re_ that idiot activist who hacked my office computer?” asked Stendahl, with cruel amusement. “And you’ve been ‘recruited’ for your troubles, yes? Commiserations, dearie. How does it feel, being one of a dying race of tin soldiers when you might have been part of the most resplendent interstellar empire ever conceived … to get ahead of myself a little?”

“Just fine, thanks,” answered Stormbird, coldly. “Kind of like I’d enjoy filling your face full of hot plasma, but I’ll hold off on that for now.”

“Spoken like a true Decepticon, but you’d better curb that desire,” said Megatron, harshly. “After I’ve done with this insolent microbe and her rabble, she’ll have no face for you to-”

“CAUTION,” advised Soundwave, as his bio-scan returned some extremely anomalous, though oddly familiar readings. “SOLDIERS SCAN AS NORMAL ORGANICS, BUT DATA FOR FEMALE WILDLY AT VARIANCE WITH-”

“Great Cybertron, not _another_ one?” asked Megatron, exasperated. “Exactly how many of you insufferable, animated, extra-terrestrial pebbles are at large on this planet?”

“Oh, many more than you’d believe,” answered Stendahl, her smug demeanour slightly tinged with sadness, “but few in as fair a condition as I am, alas.”

“I wouldn’t count on _that_ for too much longer … and how, pray, does your troop of pet monkeys feel about providing security for an alien, if you’ve seen fit to tell them?”

“‘Alien?’” asked one of the security guards, uneasily. “What does he mean by that, ma’am? I don’t under-”

“Quiet, Cullen,” ordered Stendahl, curtly. “Pay no attention. Let _me_ handle this. I know exactly what I’m-”

“Just drop the act, Zultanite,” cut in Garnet, scathingly. “It can’t make any difference now, and you’re way out of your league.”

“That’s debatable, but the day I take any orders from some hybrid perma-fusion freak-”

“You will, however, take them from _me_ ,” ordered Megatron, levelling his cannon. “My time is short and my patience shorter, so reveal yourself if you wish to survive the next few seconds.” Stendahl acknowledged the threat with a small, unimpressed shrug, then shape-shifted only by a subtle degree. Her eyes became a little wider and darker, and her figure a little more tall and slender. Her grey suit and shoes changed colour and cut, becoming a greenish-brown ensemble consisting of knee-high boots, tight leggings and a skirted tunic with a black-trimmed, V-shaped neckline, with a blue diamond symbol at the meeting point of the lines. The most dramatic changes were to her hair and her left hand. The former changed from an unremarkable bob of greying dark hair to a perfectly symmetrical, iridescent, helmet-like cut that shifted colour according to the angle of the light, while the large gemstone ring she had been wearing on her left middle finger seemed to slide upwards, until it came to a rest embedded in the back of her hand, the smooth oval cabochon reflecting the light in the same way as her hair. Subtle or not, this transition was quite disturbing enough for the security guards. Some of them merely stared in disbelief, some shouted, some swore, and a few tried to make a break for it back up the valley, but Starscream put paid to that ambition by spraying a quick barrage of plasma bolts in their path, whereupon they all got the message and stayed put.

“Very good, Air Commander,” said Zultanite, approvingly. “We shall have need of at least a few of these primitives.”

“You brought us here as a _sacrifice_ , you sick-minded bitch?” said Cullen, angrily and incredulously, while levelling his machine pistol. “I oughta just-” The idle threat concluded in a yelp of pain, as Starscream blasted the weapon out of his hands, much to Soundwave’s distaste. Not that he cared particularly for the humans, _but how shallow can you get? A few words of faint praise from this Zultanite, and he’s practically eating energon goodies out of her hands already._ Soundwave’s attempts to run a mental scan of this renegade Gem were so far proving very difficult, her psychic rhythms extremely hard to pin down. _A subversive agent, well-trained in mental resistance techniques._ Still, such vague impressions as he was getting were so full of arrogance, malevolence, and insincerity that he was heartily grateful for Stormbird’s next contribution:

“Respectfully, Leader, isn’t this a waste of time?” she asked Megatron. “These humans can’t harm us, but the Autobots could be upon us at any time if we delay. Why not just let these men go and take our spoils back to base … then let Pearl go as well?” Megatron frowned as he considered this, no doubt well aware of Stormbird’s ulterior, humanitarian motives, but his expression soon softened into one of stern resolve.

“She’s right,” he announced. “These aliens have distracted us long enough already, and _this_ one does not even seem to be well-liked by her own kind,” he observed, while training his aim back on Zultanite. “Perhaps I _should_ just eradicate you before we leave. I don’t appreciate attempts to manipulate my own troops, in case you were in any doubt, and it seems no-one will regret the-”

“You would have ample cause to regret killing me, Megatron,” said Zultanite, and she lifted up the metal travel case in her right hand: it was a primitive, unassuming piece of Earth craftsmanship that had remained unchanged during her shape-shift, but the energy emissions Soundwave was detecting from it were like nothing he had ever measured on Earth. “As I see, you stole the Injecting Catalyser prototype from my old vault – for which I’m duly grateful, incidentally, as it would have taken the humans ages to mine it out of there without your invaluable help – but like any weapon, it’s only as good as its ammunition. _This_ is the ammunition. Here,” she added, holding the case out to him. Megatron made a very slight move to accept it, but his suspicious instincts quickly kicked in, to Soundwave’s relief.

“You’re just _offering_ this to me?” asked Megatron, dubiously. “No cost, no conditions?”

“STRONGLY ADVISE AGAINST,” said Soundwave, wishing not for the first time that his faulty speech parser allowed more urgency into his voice. _I wouldn’t buy a used shuttle off this woman, never mind accept a weapon of mass destruction._

“Don’t … please,” urged Rose, her own plaintive tone making up for the lack of emotion in Soundwave’s, although both of them soon wished that she had kept her mouth shut. _She could not have piqued Megatron’s curiosity more had she tried._ Megatron stared hard at her, then at Zultanite, then at the metal case, then he snatched it out of her hands and pulled it open, snapping the locking mechanism without the slightest effort. Throwing away the broken case like some scooped-out aluminium shellfish, he extracted the contents: a large, smoky brown, six-sided crystal, pointed at both ends. He examined both the crystal and the Catalyser, located a conical recess at the back of the latter, and inserted the crystal into it. Nothing much happened, other than the device giving off a soft hum, but Zultanite’s hungry smile, which she was not suppressing half as well as her psychic waves, was quite troubling enough for Soundwave.

“Like this, I assume?” asked Megatron, then he held the Catalyser like a pistol and pointed it straight at its former owner’s face. “And let us say, for example, I decided to test this bizarre gift by shooting you here and now. What would the effect be?”

“Nothing whatsoever,” answered Zultanite, unfazed, “though feel free to try. That seed crystal has a considerable capacity, but it wasn’t designed to be used on Gemkind. If you want expendable test subjects, I suggest these humans. You will find it _very_ effective on them.”

“You fucking-” Cullen began to exclaim, his words nearly choked with fear and rage, but they stuck completely in his throat as Megatron’s aim drifted slowly in his direction. It hovered there while he considered his options with a sceptical, if pitiless expression, until Stormbird spoke up again, desperately, _but at least she knows better than to try to appeal to his sentimental side_ :

“Leader … surely we have many weapons that can destroy humans … if we must. Killing these ones is so pointless. We could take this device back to base, dismantle it carefully, increase our knowledge of this technology on _our_ terms, but why play this maniac’s game?”

“I’m … inclined to agree,” decided Megatron, irritably, as he lowered his aim. “Thank you for the gift, alien, but humans – Autobot allies or not – are hardly such a threat to me that I am desperate for new methods of exterminating them.”

“It would cost you nothing to try it, though I had not counted upon the Decepticon leader being so timid,” said Zultanite, reproachfully, while briefly exchanging glances with Starscream. “Small wonder you’ve made such wretched progress in your war if you’re _this_ risk-averse.”

“Don’t you try that line with-” Megatron began, but left the threat unfinished as Starscream snatched the Catalyser from his hands – causing Pearl’s gemstone to fall to the ground in the process – aimed, and fired at the security guards. It discharged a wide-angle, sepia-toned beam that he was quickly able to sweep across the whole platoon, and before Megatron, Soundwave, Stormbird, Rose, and Garnet could get the Catalyser off him – which they all rushed to do – every one of the guards was lying on the ground, writhing, and screaming in increasingly tortured, hoarse voices, while their bodies withered away into dessicated shells. Even when Megatron had finally managed to seize the strange weapon again and punch his insubordinate lieutenant onto his back, and when the croaking voices had all died out, the humans continued to shrivel and crumble, until only dust and uniforms remained. Zultanite walked among the remains with a look of exaltation that Soundwave found very disturbing. _Either she must really hate humans, or that was a particularly stupid mistake even by Starscream’s standards._

“You mutinous junkpile!” snarled Megatron, enraged. “How dare you exceed-”

“ _Someone_ needed to show daring,” protested Starscream. “To see you standing there, afraid to kill a few miserable organics … It brings shame on us all. The Decepticons deserve a leader of vision and courage. Not one who lends his audio receptors to enemy aliens and squeamish females,” he added, with a nasty glance at Stormbird. “To think you nearly threw away our opportunity to possess such a magnificent terror weapon.”

“I’m pleased you appreciate it, Starscream,” said Zultanite, as she reached down into Cullen’s powdery remains and extracted a small, round object, like an earthy orange pearl. “I fear you don’t see its _true_ potential, though. Isn’t that just perfect?” she asked, rhetorically, while examining the object with satisfaction. “I was right: I _can_ formulate a perfect seed crystal even using the primitive technology of this world, but I’ve been trying and failing for centuries to invent a new, stable laser injection system for it. Human science is still so far behind where we were. Only the Catalyser would suffice, and you kindly unearthed it for me.”

“What is that thing?” asked Megatron, indicating the stone between her fingers.

“Chemically, a sort of low-grade, artificially cultured calcium carbonate, but I just call it ‘Organite.’ You see, Megatron, our colonisation and terraforming methods make efficient use of all available mineral resources to create new Gems and worlds fit for them to inhabit, but we have tended to treat organic life as a mere nuisance, to be purged. In that sense, my race is not so different from yours. The ruler of _this_ colony, however, was no stranger to squeamishness herself, so to humour her qualms I was ordered to investigate some method to non-destructively utilise or repurpose the sentient organics of this world … and as you are about to see, I succeeded brilliantly,” she concluded, as the Organite in her hand started to vibrate, and similar cultured Gems began rising out of the other uniforms, slowly levitating until they had all attained a height of around five feet. They began glowing, giving off a white aura which grew in intensity until it surrounded them, then it resolved into clearly-defined, identical shapes.

Where each human had fallen, a new figure now stood: symmetrical, hairless, with brick-coloured skin, about as tall as a slightly below-average-height human, extremely slender, of vaguely female proportions, but sketchily formed and lacking detail, like low-polygon vector models. Their faces were blank, expressionless, and cyclopean, with their gemstones sitting in the middle of their foreheads as single eyes, and their legs and fingers simply terminated in sharp points, making them look almost insect-like. None of them spoke, or stirred from the spot where they had formed, but some of them looked around a little with slight, twitching movements. _An impressive, if slightly crude ‘resurrection,’ but she seems pleased,_ observed Soundwave, as Zultanite looked over her ‘children’ with evident pride. The other Gems, by contrast, and especially Rose, were watching with sadness and horror. _Overreacting, surely? Human nature is not so inherently valuable a thing, and at the end of the day these creatures have been upgraded into something of a superior, immortal kind, even if a lowly, synthetic version of it. Stormbird coped well with her upgrading, much better than I had expected. I daresay these specimens can do the same,_ he thought, and just for curiosity’s sake, he initiated a mental scan of the pseudo-Gem that had once been Cullen …

 _… had a name … what? … our anniversary soon … remember to … who? … take the kids to … had a name … 8_ _th_ _Marines … Beirut … knew some of the boys from … where? … Kayser … easy work, they said … who? … a name … Stendahl … won’t last a few seconds … what? … name … not hers … mine … who? … sacrifice … pain … nothing now … empty … name … no name …_

He broke off the scan quickly, and purged the data from his cache, just to feel marginally cleaner. _That was too close to home … too close to Cybertron, to Tarn._ Back in those long-distant days when he had been surviving on the streets it had often been necessary to probe the neural networks of his fellow social cast-offs, and although some of them were predators who feigned weakness and mental degeneration only to lull others into a sense of security, there had been plenty who had not been pretending: empties whose minds were every bit as addled and fragmented as their speech patterns, if they were even capable of speech. The worst ones for him to experience had been the ex-Decepticons, victims of the demobilisation program. _Of course, the reformatters tried to hide their butchery, but you could always tell. A blank space where a sigil had been erased, an empty upgrade slot clumsily welded over, to say nothing of their mental scars: shards of memories without understanding or connection, past glories, past loves, old friends, families, reduced to so many corrupted files, nothing clear anymore except for loss, and anguish._ It was unpleasantly disconcerting to feel empathy and sorrow for human beings, but no other feeling would fit the occasion, _and death is nothing, besides. All sentient beings die, even Cybertronians, but this … This should never have happened again, not to anyone._

“Horrible,” remarked Rose, her voice little more than a haunted whisper.

“Given that you set the stage for thousands of us to be corrupted and shattered for the sake of your human fetish,” replied Zultanite, contemptuously, “I’d not supposed that _you_ would see the beauty in this, Rose Quartz. Nevertheless, my Organites represent an efficient, practical, and merciful utilisation of otherwise useless primitive life. Of course, the amount and the quality of usable minerals that can be crystallised from one specimen is limited, so there are sensible compromises here and there. They’re not individually powerful, nor especially intelligent or self-motivated, but they _do_ possess the rudiments of consciousness and they _are_ capable of carrying out any set task they’re trained in. They have the potential to make an excellent low-skilled workforce, an affordable alternative to Pearls for the masses, basic ground infantry-”

“HUSKS,” interrupted Soundwave, his monotone carrying all too little of the loathing he felt. “MISERABLE, DEMENTED, REFORMATTED HUSKS ON STRINGS.” Some echo of anger must, however, have come across in his words or tone, as even Megatron briefly stared at him in surprise, but it was Zultanite who answered him, mockingly:

“My, aren’t we melodramatic for a glitchy tape deck on legs? Thank you for your opinions, DJ Dalek, but I believe I know my own creations better than you do.”

“Never mind the melodrama,” said Megatron, dismissively. “I was more interested – or amused, perhaps – at what you just said about ‘ground infantry.’ Was it your intention to threaten us with this … well, this ‘army,’ for want of a better word, that you tricked my treacherous imbecile of an air commander into providing for you?” he asked, with a curt nod towards Starscream, who at least had the integrity to look embarrassed. “Bear in mind we _have_ just fought and defeated the real article. If you expect me to feel intimidated by these pathetic, ersatz puppets, then you underestimate me _fatally_.”

“Intimidated, Megatron?” she asked, with an almost wounded air. “I’d hope you’d be inspired, entertained at least. Perhaps you fail to appreciate the potential of these creatures, the versatility. Someone of your ambitions could make good use of beings like-”

“I can enslave humans well enough with my own methods, thank you. If I wish to do better, then that too is within my purview,” he added, giving Stormbird a quick but not unappreciative look, which she acknowledged with an awkward, guilty excuse for a smile. “Keep your pet mutations. I _will_ take your Catalyser – that at least is worthy of study, and I’d hate to leave here empty-handed – but I see no point in any further bargaining, if that’s what this has been.”

“Oh … well,” answered Zultanite, making a very plausible show of looking disappointed. “ _One_ last chance to impress you, perhaps?” she pleaded, while touching the gemstone on the back of her hand. It glowed as her right hand pulled away, drawing a solid object out of the aura: a short, thin wand of smoky brown glass with a thickened handle, like a conductor’s baton. Standing in the middle of the crowd of Organites, she tapped the wand twice against the side of her boot, at which the mutations immediately formed two perfectly neat, circular lines around her. When they were lined up, she raised the baton over her head, and they began moving around her in a strange, staccato, skipping gait, the outer circle moving clockwise and the inner circle anti-clockwise, like some bizarre and grotesque maypole dance. If this was truly meant to entertain, Soundwave could tell from Megatron’s confused, contemptuous expression that it was having no such effect, and even Rose and Amethyst looked as baffled as they did sickened. It was Garnet who finally restored some clarity to the proceedings with an urgent demand:

“Quick! Shoot them!”

“ _I_ give the orders around-” Megatron began to reply, but she cut him off furiously:

“There’s no time for your ego, mate! Just shoot them, unless you fancy being killed in the next few seconds!” That was all the encouragement Soundwave needed, and Starscream and Stormbird also opened fire on the wheeling figures. As the energy beams hit, the Organites dissolved in white mist, and their gemstones fell to the ground. Between them, the three Decepticons managed to neutralise about a dozen of the forty-odd figures before the remaining dancers seemed to erupt in a brilliant flare of white light, briefly overwhelming Soundwave’s optical systems. When the fierce glow died down, he feared it had caused them some permanent damage. _Everything seems darker, and where have those creatures … ? Oh shit,_ he thought, as his gaze drifted upwards, and he realised with no sense of relief that his optics were working perfectly. The darkness was simply due to the massive shadow ‘Zultanite’ was now casting over them all. _If we can still call her that. I’m not sure if there is a word for that thing._

Too gargantuan to fit comfortably within the narrow dimensions at the bottom of the valley, its spindly, angular legs, of which it had several pairs, were braced on either side of it, about halfway up the slopes, supporting a massive, bloated abdomen clad in iridescent hair, which was blocking out the sunlight. A humanoid torso projected from the front of this, centaur-like. Its scalp was hairless, ‘crowned’ with a circular arrangement of crudely-defined spikes, and its swollen forehead was speckled with a cluster of orange ‘eyes’ - no doubt the Organites’ gemstones – but it was still recognisably Zultanite, in spite of being roughly the size of a cathedral, and wearing an insanely triumphant, malicious smile. After the obligatory horrified pause, Starscream fired a few very optimistic null-rays in its face, but the monstrous Gem gestalt laughed them off, its booming voice as hideous and distorted as its form.

“Don’t be an idiot!” advised Garnet, pointlessly. _Just goes to show how well she knows him …_ “You won’t disrupt a stable fusion of _that_ size with a few energy beams. Worse luck, you might even strengthen it.”

“ **See: the shameless abomination gets the picture,** ” said the ‘fusion,’ in a hollow, many-layered voice. “ **I want you all to know, it gives me no pleasure to use this distasteful strategy, but needs must. Now, where were we? Ah yes. You have something of mine, I believe.** ”

“Take it!” squealed Starscream, while making another futile grab for the Catalyser, which Megatron this time anticipated with a well-timed elbow to his chest panel. Zultanite just laughed again, very unpleasantly, before disillusioning him even more:

“ **You misunderstand, my cowardly metal friend. It will cost me minimal effort to take the Catalyser from your mangled carcasses, and will prove a useful test of this fusion’s combat capabilities … though just for old time’s sake, I may begin with you, Rose Quartz. Since your antics exiled me on this pestilential planet and have forced me to spend the past six millennia kowtowing to organic savages and pretending to be one of their number, I really feel I owe you some- … Someone is impatient to die, it seems,** ” she remarked, casually, as a rocket grenade exploded behind her head, courtesy of the three Constructicons who were still in fighting condition. They had taken up covered positions some way down the valley, a fair distance behind the gigantic fusion, and were sniping at it with the most powerful weapons they had to hand, _which don’t seem to be achieving much, and whatever now?_ Zultanite was again reaching for her main gemstone, from where she pulled out her baton, now proportioned for her immense size. When it was fully extracted, she took it in both hands, and as it glowed brightly she manipulated it into a slightly different shape: still long and thin, but with an angled cup at the opposite end from the handle. She then reached up to her cluster of gemstone ‘eyes’ and extracted a shining object from each of them: long, needle-thin, and flighted like darts. Grasping these in a thick, tight bundle, she loaded them into the cupped end of her strange weapon, which was suddenly familiar to Soundwave. _An atlatl: one of the most ancient ranged weapons known. Normally harmless to us, but I’m taking no bets._ Her weapon loaded, the fusion scuttled around until she faced the opposite direction, drew back her arm, let her darts fly, and quickly justified Soundwave’s pessimism: the projectiles fell upon the Constructicons in a terrifyingly random rain of fiery silver bolts, none too accurately, but easily getting behind their cover. Scavenger was particularly unlucky, being struck by several of them, including one that sheared off his left arm in an instant. He barely had time to scream before another impaled him through the eye and he collapsed in a silent, smoking heap. _Mainly sensory systems, though. Probably repairable … if any of us live long enough to wield a soldering iron again._

“ **Oh,** _ **very**_ **promising,** ” said the monster, while reaching up to her forehead for a fresh bundle of darts. “ **I think I’ve decided on a name for this fusion. How does ‘Spinel’ strike you? Do excuse the pun. Mineralogically dubious, perhaps, but it means ‘thorn,’ so I daresay you can appreciate the … Had enough already?** ” she asked, mockingly, as Hook and Mixmaster both took to the skies and flew away as fast as they could, which was almost certainly not as fast as they would have liked. Reloading her atlatl, Spinel skittered off in pursuit. “ **Don’t be such spoilsports. I’m only just getting good with this thing.** ”

“Quick! Get in!” hissed Stormbird’s voice, in an urgent whisper. Turning around, he saw that she had transformed into her jet altmode. Her cockpit window was open, and Ravage – still too damaged to transform – was curled up on the pilot’s seat, gazing up expectantly at his master. Soundwave looked around some more, and saw the Crystal Gems – Amethyst was back in her helicopter ‘altmode’ and Garnet and Rose were both aboard her, the latter clutching Pearl’s gemstone – but Megatron and Starscream were conspicuously absent.

“QUERY: WHERE IS MEGATRON?” he asked. “I CANNOT-”

“Already done a runner, and I can’t say he didn’t have a point,” answered Garnet. “Do as she says, before that thing stops ‘playing.’” _Convincing logic, I must admit,_ thought Soundwave, transforming into his micro-cassette player altmode and flying into Stormbird’s cockpit. The window closed behind him, and Stormbird took off. Settled where he was, disconcertingly ensconced between Ravage’s paws, he did not have the most advantageous view of their journey, but it had not been long before Rose shouted for them to take a right turning, Stormbird banked sharply, then the light dimmed at the same time as she began to slow down. She juddered slightly as she touched down, the cockpit window opened, and Soundwave flew out and transformed back into robot mode. He found himself back in the deep, sheltered cave they had used to conceal the true drilling site. The drilling drone was lying inert beside the borehole, a little battered for its arduous labours but still intact. _The Constructicons excel at their creative functions, if less so as combatants._ Sitting against the far wall, both looking thoroughly out of humour, were Megatron and Starscream.

“You were just planning on hiding in here while your grunts out there took all the punishment?” Amethyst asked Megatron, as she and Stormbird transformed back into their humanoid forms. “Real classy, dude.”

“Strangely, I’ve never considered suicidal tendencies to be the mark of a great leader,” he replied, snarkily. “This seemed an advantageous place to regroup and consider our strategy, and clearly _you_ had the same idea, so I’ll thank you to refrain from-”

“I can’t argue with that, Megatron, but nor can I offer you much hope,” said Rose, severely. “Garnet is right: with so many enslaved Gems united by a single will, Spinel is a uniquely stable fusion. Destabilising her is out of the question. Our only hope is to poof her … to fatally penetrate her physical form, I mean, and bubble Zultanite’s gem before she can reform it,” she clarified, for her largely bemused audience. “That would take a tremendous, focused physical force, though.”

“Oh, how ironic. If you and your friends had not left half of the Constructicons the worse for wear, they could have formed Devastator. Brute force was _his_ speciality.”

“And if your lieutenant hadn’t shot Pearl in the back, _we_ could have formed Obsidian … but useless recriminations won’t help us. We need to work with what we do have.”

“I don’t suppose I could get a volunteer for a courageous Seeker jet to fly nose-first into that loathsome atrocity and earn himself a place in the Hall of Heroes?” asked Megatron. Judging both from the pronoun and from the very nasty glance he threw at Starscream, this quip had not been intended for Stormbird, but it was she who replied nonetheless:

“If that’s the only way, then I guess …” she offered, dejectedly, “but if there’s any chance of repairing me afterwards … if there’s anything left, of co-”

“He wasn’t serious, Stormbird … I hope,” said Garnet, with particularly harsh emphasis on the last two words.

“I can honestly say, I didn’t think even _she_ would be maudlin enough to take that seriously,” replied Megatron, “though that said, if you’re desperate to be a martyr, Stormbird, feel free to-”

“NO,” interrupted Soundwave, instantly drawing surprised looks from all and sundry. Hastily, although in his best, rigidly logical diction, he added, “HOLLOW SEEKER NOSECONES OFFER INSUFFICIENT MASS FOR PROPOSED OPERATION. MORE DURABLE ALTERNATIVE REQUIRED … LIKE THAT,” he suggested, as he caught sight of the idle drone drill again, and pointed it out. His inspiration did not immediately win devoted converts, with Megatron in particular being quick to point out its glaring flaw, scathingly:

“Oh, _brilliant_. And how were you proposing to propel it? Unless you happen to have a giant catapult triple altmode you’ve been hiding from me all these years-”

“Got it! Lateral thinking, peeps,” said Amethyst, enigmatically, while shape-shifting into a new form somewhat reminiscent of Long Haul’s altmode: a small, purple dump truck with her face in the place of its radiator grille. “I know how we can poof that ugly son-of-a-stratum. Stormy: have you ever seen _The Empire Strikes Back_?”

“Yes, but I don’t …” Stormbird began to answer, but her moment of confusion was brief. “Hang on a sec, you mean you want me to hit it with- ?”

“Everything you’ve got, girl, but we’ve got to time it just right. I’ve gotta get behind that thing first … should be fun. Drill me up, Cassetteboy,” she ordered Soundwave. He lifted the drone into her truck bed and reactivated it. Its cluster of many-toothed tungsten carbide bits rotated rapidly, and it shimmered with a faint, magenta glow as its force field charged up. _I certainly wouldn’t care to fall on that … assuming I understand this plan correctly._ “Some bait wouldn’t hurt, as well. Yo, Bad Boss Robot Guy,” she called to Megatron. “Chuck that Catalyser thing in here as well. Today would be good,” she added, having failed to get an immediate result. With all due reluctance and annoyance, Megatron complied.

“I WILL ACCOMPANY YOU,” declared Soundwave, transforming and flying into Amethyst’s cab. She only managed to express one indeterminate vowel of protest before he continued, insistently: “TIMING IS PARAMOUNT, AS YOU SAY. I CAN CALCULATE THE OPTIMAL MOMENT FOR STORMBIRD TO DO HER PART, AND COMMUNICATE IT TO HER,” _and stop her potentially throwing her life away for nothing,_ which he found he cared about more than he was at all comfortable with, not that anyone else needed to know that.

“Fair enough, then,” agreed Amethyst, resignedly. “We’ll go on ahead. Stormy: you wait just outside the cave for your signal. Everyone else, stay put. Team Amethyst: roll out!” she ordered, and from his vantage point by Amethyst’s rear-view mirror, Soundwave just caught Megatron’s look of ill-tempered exasperation as they drove away.

Outside the cave, the sun was starting to fall, reducing the forms in the western stretch of the valley to hazy silhouettes bathed in a reddish glow. Still, there was no mistaking one particularly large, spindly, horribly suggestive silhouette than spanned the canyon like a hideous arch, some two hundred yards away. Especially not when it drew an arm back, swung it forwards at speed, and a shower of bright silver shards came flying from it in a lethal, arcing spray. Amethyst accelerated rapidly to avoid the worst of them, although she had to swerve to avoid a couple that fell short, then quickly corrected her course to plot a route between Spinel’s legs. As they approached the fusion, Spinel reached down to intercept them with her free hand, but with a final burst of speed Amethyst narrowly managed to outpace the groping, claw-tipped fingers, and pass underneath her. _Now or never, by my reckoning,_ thought Soundwave, and he signalled Stormbird. Amethyst relented her speed a little when they had reached the other side of Spinel, giving the ungainly and by now very frustrated fusion time to turn herself around and continue the pursuit. _Keeping her attention on us … and not on that, where it ought to be,_ he thought, as his audio receptors picked up the sound of Seeker engines. In the rear-view mirror, behind the furious and still oblivious Spinel, he saw a dust cloud gathering, then a dark shape approaching rapidly in a wheeling flight path. Suddenly, the shape broke away, flying upwards, while its intensely powerful slipstream continued onwards, concentrated down the natural wind tunnel of the canyon. Spinel became aware of it all too late, and although she tried to turn, it only resulted in the hurricane striking her full in the side, blowing her completely off balance, and sending her tumbling towards the tilted bed of Amethyst’s truck form, and its extremely hard and pointy cargo. One shrieking, hollow cry; a light shower of falling gemstones; and a lot of white mist later, and Amethyst and Soundwave found themselves tumbling end over end in the tempest, but that was a very bearable humiliation for him. _So much for fusion power, to coin a phrase … and I was right about Stormbird. Let’s see if even Starscream dares to question her usefulness now._

 


	7. The Clod and the Rebel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faced with some fairly predictable Decepticon treachery, the Crystal Gems get ready to do battle again, but find they have some surprising allies.

Tension was running high back in the cave, but it was relieved somewhat when an exuberant black-and-lilac F-15 came wheeling in with cheerful words of victory. Pleased as Garnet had been to receive that news, she knew it was too much to assume things were over and done with yet. _We can’t forget Zultanite’s gemstone. If we don’t find and bubble that, we could be reliving this lovely experience all over again in a matter of minutes._ Having quickly explained the necessity of this to their ‘allies,’ Rose had boarded Stormbird, and Garnet a decidedly grudging Starscream, and they had set out to rejoin Amethyst, with Megatron and Ravage following.

As they approached, they saw Amethyst and Soundwave both sifting around in the rocks and the scraggly desert plants for fallen gemstones. Soundwave was gathering them in the palm of his left hand, while Amethyst was enclosing them in bubbles and warping them to the Temple as soon as she found them, _but I can only see Organites,_ thought Garnet, anxiously. As Starscream decelerated and touched down, she kept watching intently, hoping to spot the large, iridescent cabochon of the pitiless Homeworld scientist, but she saw only one small, orangey, pearl-like stone after another. Amethyst paused in her bubbling when she saw Garnet emerging from Starscream’s cockpit, and walked over to meet her, beaming widely, but much as congratulations were well-deserved, Garnet was in no mood to overlook the more pressing matter.

“Hey, Garnet, my main-” Amethyst started to greet her, jovially, only to be cut off in an urgent, unceremonious fashion:

“Zultanite’s gemstone! Where- ?”

“Geez, relax,” said Amethyst, frowning. “That was the first one I bubbled, of course. What, you think I’m completely crazy?”

“Is there a better word for someone who’d play blow football with a spider the size of Notre Dame?” asked Garnet, with a wry smile. “Definitely crazy … but brilliant, not to mention brave.”

“I’ve a standard to keep up, what can I say? Can’t take all the credit for the insanity, though. Where is she, my favourite aerial death machine? Come on girl, transform, and give me some skin … or steel, or whatever it is you’ve got,” she added, as Stormbird transformed back into robot mode. As soon as her hands were fully-formed, Amethyst took an impressive standing leap and gave her a high five. “Woohoo! Team Tornado for the win! Hey, dude,” she said, rather less warmly, as Megatron arrived. “The girls went and fixed your fusion problem for you.”

“Evidently … You did well,” replied Megatron, stiffly.

“You know, ‘thank you’ also works,” remarked Garnet, eliciting an acidic glance for her troubles, although Megatron did immediately turn to Stormbird and address her with something not entirely unlike gratitude:

“You have my word this will not go unrecognised, Stormbird. While we are effectively outlaws on this miserable planet, there is a limit to what I can offer you, of course, but that time will hopefully be short. For the present, if Skywarp or _anyone else_ ,” he emphasised, treating Starscream to a quick but threatening look, “dares to question your validity, they will have me to answer to.” The young Seeker acknowledged the praise with a small smile and a respectful bow.

“QUERY, AMETHYST,” Soundwave began to ask. He was holding out his hand, showing the small collection of unbubbled Organites still cupped in his palm. “IS THERE ANY URGENCY TO PUT THESE ONES IN STASIS?”

“None, I’m afraid,” Rose answered for her, sadly. “Even if they reform, they will do nothing: just stand around and wait for orders from their mistress. They’ve no free will, no identities, barely anything that can be called a mind. This is a definition of ‘mercy’ that only Homeworld could have conceived of.”

“AS I THOUGHT. SHALL I DESTROY THEM, THEN?”

“I’ve got to admit … I was wondering myself if that mightn’t be kinder,” confessed Garnet, grimly. “We’ve had no luck even trying to heal ordinary corrupted Gems, and with _these_ ones it doesn’t even seem like there’s anything left to heal.”

“Nevertheless … let’s keep an open mind,” decided Rose. “In spite of our lack of success, we haven’t given up hope on _any_ Gems, and who knows what opportunities … or miracles, even, the future might bring? Let me have them, please, Soundwave,” she asked, reaching out both her hands. Soundwave tipped the Organites into her grasp, and she let Garnet and Amethyst each take a handful of them. Between them, they had the remaining Organites bubbled and teleported away in a matter of seconds. As Garnet was attending to her final gemstone, she noticed Megatron out of the corner of her eye, attempting to discreetly lift an object that had lain hidden in a partially crushed patch of prickly pears. He was trying to block their line of sight with his body, but one glimpse of its cylindrical silver barrel was enough for Garnet.

“ _You_ need to leave that,” she informed him, her stern tone bordering on veiled threat, _and maybe I should have thought that through,_ she wondered, as Megatron turned to face them, his whole look now one of swaggering defiance. He was holding the Catalyser in his right hand, and making no more effort to conceal it. _The arrogant git’s just going to take that as a challenge. There are some days, I really need to be more in touch with my inner Sapphire …_

“I think not,” answered Megatron, his tone fully justifying her pessimism. “Call it a small recompense for what your kind have put me through today.”

“What _we’ve_ put _him_ though?” asked Amethyst, incredulously. “Do they give out awards for being an entitled piece of- ?”

“It won’t be used as a weapon, I promise,” interrupted Stormbird, with hasty diplomacy. “We’ll dismantle it, research its components, but that’s all.”

“That’s a considerable ‘all,’ Stormbird,” said Rose, reprovingly. “I don’t think your friends are ready for Gem technology. In any case, much as I’d like to trust you, you can’t make that promise for them … and I’m sorry to say I don’t trust your leader in the slightest.”

“But … Look, I know we haven’t exactly gotten off on the best foot, but we wouldn’t use it for _that_ … would we?” she asked, or rather pleaded, and Garnet could only pity her as she turned to each of her Decepticon comrades in turn for some sort of reassurance, and encountered only one coldly grim face; one sneering and amused face; and one blank, inscrutable barely-a-face. “I mean, renegades we may be, but we have _some_ standards … don’t we?” she asked, more insistently. “Anyway, you said it yourself, Megatron: this device doesn’t do anything for us that we can’t do ourselves … less horribly and inhumanely, too.”

“Think, Stormbird,” urged Megatron, his voice as grim and discouraging as his face. “The sheer power of that fusion … If we could master the principles of this process, alter the formulation of the seed crystal so that the mutations obey only _us_ , we could have access to the ultimate bio-weapon, and at such trifling cost.”

“But … we have our own combiner teams already!” she pointed out, with rising dismay. “Constructicons, Stunticons … Nothing stops us from making more, and at least _they’re_ all real beings with minds of their own. Why do we need to debase ourselves with- ?”

“Because not only has that technology already been stolen and copied by the Autobots, but it is also a significant drain on our resources!” he snapped, his unimpressive reserves of patience already spent. “I’m not minded to debate this. Just be grateful I deemed _you_ interesting enough to expend additional resources upon, although you begin to make me regret that decision.”

“I am grateful … Doesn’t stop me being disgusted,” she added, boldly. “You’re … or at least you _were_ better than this. After what happened to our ancestors, what _you_ once tried to stop-”

“ _Your_ ancestors? You dare lay claim to our heritage to manipulate _me_ , when we all know that _your_ heritage is nothing but protoplasmic slime and dust, to which I’m strongly minded to return you,” he threatened, his right fist clenched and twitching apoplectically, along with the arm and its mounted cannon. That was enough of a signal for Garnet to summon her gauntlets again, and neither Rose nor Amethyst had been idle in materialising their own weapons. _He can sack her if he wants – better all round if he did – but if he tries anything worse than that, the only ‘fusion’ he’ll be getting is when I panel-beat his ugly face right up his-_

“IN THAT CASE … I WILL CLAIM THE HERITAGE,” said Soundwave, interrupting both Garnet’s thoughts and the impending battle. “I CONCUR WITH STORMBIRD. THIS DEVICE SHOULD NEVER BE USED AGAIN.” There was a long pause, during which Megatron’s face flirted with expressions of incredulity, fury, and even faint flickers of hurt, but was unable to settle on any one, so it was Starscream who eventually broke the silence, with a cynical attempt at mirth:

“Perhaps, Megatron, it would be simpler if we got these two traitors a room before we took the weapon. They’ve obviously got something they need to get out of their-” but the innuendo died on his lips as Megatron fixed him with a very oppressive warning stare. Clearly, he was not ready to forgive Starscream’s recent and far more selfish attempt at mutiny just because of the now-general state of insubordination. Rose took good note of that, and addressed him reasonably:

“A wise leader, Megatron, would at least consider what his loyal friends have to-”

“You believe yourself to be a sterling example of that?” asked Megatron, witheringly. “The rebel queen who apparently got almost her entire army killed or mutated other than this pathetic remnant of exiles? I can do quite well without _your_ advice, thank you, and in my book _loyal_ soldiers do not question their leader’s authority.”

“NOT YOUR AUTHORITY … YOUR OBJECTIVITY, PERHAPS,” replied Soundwave, and although his tone was as emotionless as ever, his body language conveyed his remonstrance eloquently. “WHEN WE FIRST ARRIVED ON EARTH, HUMANITY WAS NOTHING TO US: AN IRRELEVANCE, A NUISANCE AT MOST. WE WERE CONTENT TO IGNORE THEM AS LONG AS THEY DID NOT INTERFERE IN OUR OPERATIONS. SOME ELEMENTS AMONG THEM, HOWEVER, ALLIED WITH THE AUTOBOTS AND SINCE THEN-”

“Since then they have been our enemies, _yes_! So what, again, are we arguing about? The Catalyser offers us a way to kill two shrikebats with one firestone: we cheaply weaponise these useless, unruly organics, just as Zultanite suggested-”

“VIABILITY QUESTIONABLE. DRONE GEM FUSIONS WITHOUT MASTER CONTROL OF TRUE GEM ARE LIKELY TO POSSESS LITTLE TO NO COMBAT EFFECTIVENESS, AND LESS INTELLIGENCE THAN EVEN A STANDARD COMBINER-”

“Silence! We will find ways to overcome that, but even if we don’t that is only the half of what we will gain. Just imagine the effect on Optimus Prime’s morale, when we start changing his precious humans en masse into mindlessly obedient, holographic puppets, and turn them against him. If that doesn’t break the sentimental fool, I can’t imagine what will.”

“CONCLUSION … IS FLAWED. CONJECTURE: IT WOULD DO EXACTLY THE OPPOSITE; GALVANISE HIS RAGE, DEADEN HIS REMAINING QUALMS, AND VASTLY INCREASE HIS MOTIVATION TO DESTROY US UTTERLY. CONVERSELY, I HAVE NEVER KNOWN PRIME’S MORALE MORE SHAKEN THAN WHEN STORMBIRD, A FORMER HUMAN, DEFENDED US TO HIS FACE, AND MALIGNED HIS CAUSE. SHE ALONE IS A FAR MORE EFFECTIVE WEAPON OF PROPAGANDA AND SUBVERSION THAN THIS PLAN COULD EVER-”

“In case there’s any doubt on this matter, I am sick of the sound of her name! At this stage, Soundwave, I am entirely prepared to admit that Stormbird was nothing more than a hideously unsuccessful experiment for which I bear full responsibility.”

“LOGIC UNACCEPTABLE. BUT FOR HER AND AMETHYST, IT IS POSSIBLE NONE OF US WOULD STILL BE FUNCTIONING,” insisted Soundwave, while Amethyst struck a heroic pose and Stormbird just looked miserable, although she did inch somewhat closer to Soundwave as he continued to defend her. “IN ANY CASE, THE EXPERIMENT HAS NOT BEEN UNSUCCESSFUL. YOU WANTED HER INDOCTRINATED AS A DECEPTICON. THAT HAS BEEN ACHIEVED. SHE ARGUED OUR CASE BEFORE PRIME, AND FOUGHT ALONGSIDE US. EVEN HER OBJECTION TO THE USE OF THE CATALYSER IS ROOTED IN THE VALUES OF THE DECEPTICON CAUSE, AS SHE HERSELF-”

“ _I am the Decepticon cause_!” snarled Megatron, impatience now having given way to total loss of self-control. “Its values are what I say they are!”

“I … NEGATIVE. THERE HAS TO BE MORE TO IT. NO ONE COULD BE INDOCTRINATED TO SERVE A CAUSE THAT IS ONLY BLIND OBEDIENCE TO ARBITARY COMMANDS. WE WILL CERTAINLY CONVERT NO AUTOBOTS TO THAT ETHOS, BUT IF WE SHOW THEM A LOGICAL DEDICATION TO THE INTERESTS OF OUR SPECIES THAT AVOIDS GRATUITOUS CRUELTY, WE WILL PREVAIL. WE COULD PURSUE STRATEGIC ALLIANCES WITH HUMAN FACTIONS SUCH AS STORMBIRD’S, WHO RESENT THE DOMINANCE OF THE AUTOBOT-ALIGNED FACTIONS, AND OFFER THEM FAVOURED STATUS IN A FUTURE CYBERTRONIAN COLONY. DIVIDE AND CONQUER. THAT WOULD BE A MORE EFFECTIVE USE OF HUMANITY AS A POTENTIAL RESOURCE, BOTH LOGISTICALLY AND IN PSYCHOLOGICAL-”

“I’m not remotely interested in human _potential_!” declared Megatron, with icy contempt. “If this weapon achieves nothing more than to turn the entire filthy species into apathetic zombies, and thus eliminates their drain on precious energy resources that _we_ could better use, I’ll count myself well repaid. Now, if either of you two backsliders have any ambition to redeem yourselves, I strongly suggest you fly this device back to base without further argument. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly, Leader … Not a chance,” answered Stormbird, her tone unsteady out of sheer emotion, but harsh and defiant. Soundwave’s was of course steady, yet somehow sadder:

“NEGATIVE, MEGATRON. I WILL KILL, CONQUER, DIE FOR OUR CAUSE IF NEED BE, BUT NOT THIS. THIS IS STRATEGICALLY UNSOUND, AND MOREOVER STRIKES AT THE MOST BASIC TENETS OF DECEPTICON-”

“ _You_ weren’t even a Decepticon when I found you!” raged Megatron, bitterly. “Just some miserable freak of a defective who latched onto _my_ cause, and now you have the audacity to lecture _me_ on its principles? Perhaps Starscream was right about you two: you make a well-matched pair of ingrates, dragged up from nothing only to bite the hand that feeds you. You should spend some quality time together, _null-rays, Starscream_!”

He had sneaked the final command in so quickly that neither Soundwave nor Stormbird managed to react in time to prevent Starscream from raising his arm rifles and shooting them both simultaneously. As the beams struck them, small arcs of pinkish lightning danced across their bodies, and they collapsed, twitching and screaming. They soon fell still and silent, but Amethyst and Garnet wasted no time in filling the silence, wrathfully, while brandishing their weapons:

“You don’t like taking criticism, let’s see how you like taking my fists to your-” Garnet began, while willing her gauntlets to assume a larger, suitably mech-bashing size.

“Stormy!” cried Amethyst at the same time, in consternation, then both her voice and her eyes hardened as she turned her attention back to Megatron. “Oh, there’s gonna be an extra pile of junk in my room tonigh-”

“Don’t over-dramatise,” cut in Megatron, his tone so cold and leaden that it did actually dampen their battle-rage somewhat. “They’re only stunned. I shall be quite content to leave them to the tender mercies of your Autobot friends, when they finally deign to arrive. I imagine it will be some small consolation for them having failed miserably to deprive me of the Catalyser. Now, if you’ll all excuse-”

“How thoughtful of you, Megatron,” said a deep, stern, and familiar voice from above, while Megatron’s face curled in an infuriated grimace. Garnet turned her gaze to the upper slopes of the valley, and saw a large party of Autobots descending, led by Optimus Prime, all of them in robot mode and with their weapons drawn. “Under the circumstances, though, I’d say consolation prizes are a moot point, wouldn’t you?”

“Prime … You’ve made it at last, I see, well after the action,” remarked Megatron, not very successfully masking his rage beneath scornful mockery. “I think it important to note, without the support of these meddling aliens you would have lost this battle hands down.”

“And _you_ would quite probably be dead,” pointed out Rose, harshly. “I see I was wrong about you, Megatron. I had dared to hope that your enemies misunderstood you, that beneath all your ego and ruthlessness lay a genuine desire to help your people, but you really are the spiteful, paranoid fool they hold you to be. I’ve committed some serious stupidities in my time, but I would never have dreamed of sacrificing two brave and faithful friends for the sake of some wretched piece of tech. Actually, make that three,” she added, as a low, metallic growling sound drew everyone’s attention to Soundwave’s body. Ravage was crouched over his fallen master, and staring at Megatron and Starscream with a look that quite possibly portended mangled metal throats.

“Speaking of the tech, hand that over,” ordered Garnet, holding out a gauntleted hand. “The pair of you can sod off back home, then.”

“Err, I’m pretty sure we haven’t agreed on _that_ ,” objected Cliffjumper, his blaster twitching dangerously and expectantly in his hand. “We picked up Tracks and Mirage back there, shot half to death. Those poor bastards are looking at spending days in the repair bay, not to mention all the rest of the payback we owe these Decepti-creeps. I don’t see why we shouldn’t show these two the same mercy that they’ve-”

“Please,” urged Rose, calmly. “There’s been carnage enough today. For their admittedly _very small_ part in helping us to defeat Zultanite, I would be grateful if Megatron and Starscream were to be spared … _after_ they have handed over the Catalyser, of course.” For a few seconds, Megatron exchanged stares with her in silence, his eyes blazing and his teeth clenched, but after due consideration of the unpromising odds, he flung the device at her feet. Rose raised her sword, then brought it down upon the metal cylinder, shearing it in two and anointing the valley floor with mysterious oily fluids. She followed this up with several more strokes, until there was not a single identifiable component left of the thing, but only twisted metal, shattered glass, and organic mush. She then brought her foot down upon the seed crystal, fracturing it into innumerable glittering shards, while Megatron watched in bemused contempt.

“And you call _me_ the fool,” he remarked, with a derisive, joyless laugh. “Whatever difficulties we might have faced in using that device, you could have used it with ease, you must realise that? You and your allies could have formed a fusion ten times … or even ten million times more powerful than Spinel, powerful enough to obliterate not only all of us, but also the ones who exiled you here. You could have had your revenge on them, and become undisputed ruler of this world, or any other you cared to subdue. Why, if you’d adapted the device to work on other lifeforms than Earth organics, you could have had potentially _infinite_ power.” Garnet was hard-pressed to restrain herself as he waxed lyrical on this sordid dream, _talking about fusion – the most beautiful, intimate experience two Gems can enjoy, if based on love and trust – as if it was no more than some all-you-can-eat buffet for megalomaniacs._ Rose merely looked at him with a sad, ironic smile, before answering in an equally subdued tone:

“One day, Megatron, I hope you’ll realise why that is the most barren, unappealing excuse for a vision … but I shan’t hope too hard. Please just go. You’re not _quite_ the most depressing personality I’ve ever known, but you come close.” A flash of angry, wounded pride briefly animated the Decepticon leader’s expression, but it soon cooled as he looked around, and registered the not inconsiderable number of blasters now trained upon him. With a final glower in the direction of the Crystal Gems, he took to the skies, and Starscream wasted no time in following. Garnet was very happy to see the two of them recede into the distance, but the Autobots watched them go with a mixture of sullen and doubtful looks.

“With all respect to your compassion, Rose, we may rue that decision,” said Optimus. “It would please me as much as you to believe that Megatron will some day experience a moral epiphany, but I daren’t live in such a fool’s paradise.”

“I fear you’re probably right, but I had other reasons,” replied Rose. “With those two, you have the advantage that they’re as petty as they are cruel, and that will always weaken their strategies. If Soundwave ever inherited the position, he would make a far more subtle and calculating Decepticon leader, and more dangerous to you. He made that much all too clear.”

“Oh well, if _that’s_ all you’re worried about, I can fix that for you, no sweat,” said Cliffjumper, menacingly, while priming his blaster and advancing on the unconscious Decepticon officer. Ravage tensed up and growled more furiously than before, but failed to dissuade him. “We can take care of Macavity and Hurricane Audrey at the same-”

“ _Definitely_ not happening,” said Garnet, holding out the the flat of her gauntleted right hand in a detaining gesture. Amethyst achieved much the same effect by stepping between Stormbird’s body and Cliffjumper, and glaring at the latter defiantly. The Autobot warrior stood where he was, in numb incredulity, until Optimus laid a confirming hand upon his shoulder. Grudgingly accepting the situation, Cliffjumper shook his head and lowered his sidearm.

“Whatever. You know, we _are_ supposed to be at war with these psychos?” he protested. “This is a damn funny way to go about winning one, if you don’t mind my saying. If you knew what an evil, manipulative son-of-a-Skuxxoid that guy is …”

“Eh, I got some idea from the whole ‘divide and conquer’ spiel,” Garnet conceded, “but the point still stands. For one thing, they’re both helpless. For another, they might well have just helped save the entire human race from suffering a fate way worse than death.”

“Well, I certainly look forward to hearing _this_ explanation,” said Optimus, although with a heavy air of scepticism. Nevertheless, he deactivated and shouldered his laser rifle. “Please, tell.”

************

 _Darkness … Sweet taste … Tingling … Energon? … Hard surface under me,_ thought Stormbird, her senses slowly returning to her. _Irregular … Stone. What happened back there? My head hasn’t felt this bad since spring break._ Tentatively, she opened her eyes, and when the blur had finally resolved into shapes, she saw the face of Soundwave looking down upon her, while above him was a ceiling of rock. She was lying down, her head supported by his left hand, but she was far from comfortable: her whole body was racked with aches, and she was too groggy to do more than stir feebly. She tried to speak, but, gave up the effort as Soundwave’s right hand drifted into view, holding a small ‘dish’ of energon: another wireframe force field constructed of a few simple vertices, resembling a shallow, upturned pyramid. Angling a corner of it towards her, he tipped it carefully, letting the contents flow very slowly into her mouth. It tasted a lot better than she remembered it, _or maybe that’s just because my body knows I really, really needed that,_ she surmised, while feeling the pain fade away and the strength return to her limbs with every sip. By the time the dish was empty, she felt almost fully restored, and certainly capable of sitting up. As she did so, she realised she was back in the borehole cave. It was now dark outside, but her enhanced vision enabled her to see that they were under guard: two red-liveried Autobots – Ironhide and Cliffjumper, by her reckoning – were standing just outside the cave entrance, their weapons in their hands. The occasional glances they threw within were less than friendly, so Stormbird did her best to ignore them and focus on the interior scene. Ravage was prowling impatiently around the edges of the deep inner cavern, occasionally expressing his feelings with grating snarls. When he noticed she was sitting upright, he came over briefly and accepted to have his head stroked, but being a prisoner clearly weighed heavy on him, and he quickly went back to his ill-tempered pacing and growling. Megatron and Starscream were nowhere to be seen. _No prizes for guessing why._

“They abandoned us?” she asked, with grim confidence rather than curiosity.

“AFFIRMATIVE,” answered Soundwave, closing his hand around the empty dish, which vanished like a popped bubble. “STARSCREAM’S NULL-RAYS HAVE UNPREDICTABLE SIDE-EFFECTS. YOUR MOTOR RELAYS AND SENSORY NETWORK WERE DE-ENERGISED. AMETHYST REQUESTED … OR RATHER INSISTED THAT OUR CAPTORS SUPPLY ENERGON TO EXPEDITE YOUR RECOVERY.”

“She’s a trooper. Guess things aren’t looking too good for us, then?”

“THEY SEEM TO BE NEGOTIATING OUR FATE,” he replied, noncommittally. “CONJECTURE: THEY WILL BE LENIENT TO YOU, UNLESS THEY WISH TO TANGLE WITH THE BUSINESS END OF A CERTAIN HOLOGRAPHIC WHIP.”

“And … to you?” she asked, dreading the answer.

“UNCERTAIN. FIRING SQUAD, PERHAPS,” he speculated, with a small shrug that she found offensively casual. “WE HAVE A GREAT DEAL OF HISTORY, NONE OF IT GOOD.”

“I’m not accepting that, no way.”

“I DO NOT IMAGINE THEY WERE INTENDING TO GIVE YOU A VOTE ON-”

“No, I mean if they try to execute you, they’ll have to go through _me_.”

“THAT IS … RIDICULOUSLY ILLOGICAL AND SENTIMENTAL.”

“Yeah, I know. Shoot me. Sorry,” she apologised, albeit needlessly, as the less-than-tasteful joke had an unexpected effect: Soundwave involuntarily emitted a rapid, staccato series of wordless, metallic vocalisations, barely distinguishable as laughter. Accompanying him with a small burst of melancholic giggles, Stormbird let her head rest against his upper arm. “I don’t know if I like the sound of Autobot ‘leniency’ anyway. Do you think they’d reformat me?”

“UNLIKELY. TO DO PRIME ALL THE JUSTICE HE DESERVES, HE WOULD BALK AT SUCH A TECHNIQUE. THE AUTOBOTS DO HAVE LESS INVASIVE METHODS TO IMPOSE TEMPORARY MIND CONTROL, HOWEVER. DOMINATOR DISKS, FOR EXAMPLE. THEY CAN OVERRIDE LOGIC CIRCUITS, PLACING YOU UNDER AUTOBOT CONTROL WITHOUT CAUSING ANY IRREVERSIBLE HARM. IN ESSENCE, A KIND OF PAVLOVIAN ENFORCED PROBATION, UNTIL CONFORMITY TO AUTOBOT STANDARDS BECAME SECOND NATURE FOR YOU.”

“Real horrorshow,” she quipped, lethargically. “You know, I definitely think the firing squad sounds more appealing.”

“THEN I WAS RIGHT: YOU ARE A TRUE DECEPTICON.”

“Thank you. I’m not sure Megatron would agree with that, though. I think being tasered and thrown to the wolves was probably meant as a subtle hint that I’m not up to the job.”

“YOU ARE A PROUD, FEARLESS, ANARCHIC CRIMINAL OF PRINCIPLE. IF THERE IS NO ROOM FOR THE LIKES OF YOU IN THE DECEPTICON CAUSE, IT IS NO VERY GREAT REFLECTION ON WHAT THAT CAUSE HAS BECOME … WHAT SOME OF US HAVE ALLOWED IT TO BECOME THROUGH OUR APATHY AND COWARDICE,” he added, his drooping head conveying the self-reproach that his tone could not. “IS IT TOO LATE TO ARREST THAT DECAY? WOULD THE EFFORTS OF A MERE TWO ROBOTS MAKE ANY MEANINGFUL IMPACT? NOT THAT ESCAPE IS LOOKING PROBABLE, BUT-”

“A noble sentiment, Soundwave,” said a solemn, familiar voice, not exactly warm, but very genuine. Stormbird looked around, and saw Rose Quartz entering the cavern, closely followed by Optimus Prime, Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl. _She’s regenerated her form at last … although she looks like she was a little more rushed than she’d have liked._ Pearl’s formerly neat pink hair had reformed in a wildly asymmetrical shock, the legs of her bodysuit were of uneven length, and her ballet flats were of mismatched colours; one pale pink, one aqua. In deference to her courage, her sacrifice, and the very self-conscious air of dignity with which she was carrying herself, Stormbird suppressed the urge to giggle, which was more than Amethyst did. “Escape, however, is academic,” continued Rose, then turned to Optimus. After a moment of silent rapport between them, the Autobot commander turned to his prisoners.

“You are free to go: all three of you,” he announced, gravely. “Difficult as I find it to believe what Rose Quartz and her friends tell me, I trust them implicitly. I would probably rather not know _where_ you choose to go, but that is your own affair. I set no conditions on your freedom. Your courage has earned you the right of self-determination.”

“Thank you,” replied Stormbird, sincerely, if sadly. “I don’t think you need worry too much, though. I can’t imagine we’ll be too welcome if we show up at Decepticon HQ after tonight’s little incident.”

“Hmm. Shall you tell her, Soundwave, or shall I?” asked Prime, with a note of irony. Soundwave shot him a look – somehow managing to convey irritation even through his blank mask of a face – then he turned to Stormbird and explained:

“MEGATRON’S WRATH IS FIERCE, BUT QUICKLY SPENT. HE HAS A … CAPRICIOUS STREAK.”

“You know, that was a real missed opportunity to use the word ‘childish,’” remarked Garnet, earning herself a quick glare before Soundwave resumed:

“IF HE ENFORCED A ZERO-TOLERANCE POLICY AGAINST REBELLIOUS ELEMENTS, STARSCREAM WOULD BE DEAD SEVERAL THOUSAND TIMES OVER. NOR DOES MEGATRON CARE TO DWELL ON HIS FAILURES. LIKELY PROGNOSIS: IF WE RETURN TO BASE, RESUME OUR REGULAR DUTIES, AND KEEP A REASONABLY LOW PROFILE FOR A FEW DAYS, THIS WILL BLOW OVER COMPLETELY. STARSCREAM’S PATHETIC POWER GRAB, OUR MINOR REVOLT, THE ABYSMAL FAILURE OF THE MISSION ITSELF, OF COURSE … ALL WILL BECOME NON-SUBJECTS. THE OFFICIAL LINE WILL PROBABLY SOON BE THAT YOU WERE RECRUITED TO WORK ON THE TIDAL GENERATOR PROJECT, AND THAT IS ALL.”

“And after that’s done, my terrorist training begins?” she asked, rhetorically and gloomily. “I appreciate this Soundwave, more than I can say, but whatever the Decepticon cause _used_ to be, I really don’t think I’m cut out for it _now_.”

“You know, _some_ might say that the honourable course of action would be to offer to make these two both Autobots,” suggested Pearl, very pointedly, bur earning herself only an awkward silence for her pains. After a few excruciating seconds. Optimus made a stab at breaking it:

“Well … I … err-”

“LET ME SPARE YOU THE EMBARRASSMENT, PRIME,” interrupted Soundwave. “I WOULD SOONER EAT A VAT OF COLD SHRIKEBAT VOMIT AND WASH IT DOWN WITH TINCTURE OF COSMIC RUST. I CANNOT SPEAK FOR STORMBIRD, OF COURSE, BUT-”

“Yes, you can,” said Stormbird, more diplomatically, but very firmly. “Thank you, Pearl, and thank you, Prime, for even considering that option, but I’m certainly not cut out to be the good little American girl scout, either. I suppose I could always move to Cybertron, try and make my way as a neutral, though I guess that’d be a pretty lonely sort of life in this day and age.”

“LONELY, VERY DANGEROUS, AND ILL-ADVISED, BUT THAT SUGGESTS TO ME ANOTHER POSSIBILITY. IF YOU ARE WILLING TO TRANSFER TO CYBERTRON, THERE IS A GREAT DEAL OF WORK THAT NEEDS DOING THERE. IT WOULD NOT INVOLVE YOU IN ANY HOSTILE ACTIONS AGAINST YOUR FORMER PEOPLE, AND IT MIGHT BETTER UTILISE YOUR SKILLS. SHOCKWAVE IS A FAITHFUL COMMANDANT, BUT DURING HIS AEONS-LONG STEWARDSHIP EMBARRASSINGLY LITTLE WORK HAS BEEN ACHIEVED IN RESTORING CYBERTRON. OUR HOMEWORLD CONTINUES TO SUBSIST OFF WHAT PALTRY SUPPLIES OF ENERGY WE CAN SCAVENGE FROM EARTH … AND THAT THE AUTOBOTS DO NOT PREVENT US FROM SENDING BACK THERE. THE PROBLEM WOULD BENEFIT FROM A FRESH MIND, ONE WITH CREATIVITY AND CURIOSITY. I MAKE NO PRETENCE THAT IT WOULD BE AN EASY LIFE. YOU WILL FIND CYBERTRON AUSTERE AT BEST, AND SHOCKWAVE COLD COMPANY. IT WOULD, HOWEVER, GIVE YOU AN OPPORTUNITY TO CONNECT WITH YOUR ACQUIRED HERITAGE, AND I WOULD SPARE WHAT TIME I COULD FROM MY OWN DUTIES TO VISIT AND AID YOU IN YOUR ACCLIMATISATION … IF YOU THINK THAT WOULD BE HELPFUL, OF COURSE,” he respectfully, if needlessly added.

“Yes,” she answered, looking up and meeting his gaze. “That would definitely help … and I’d like to see Cybertron, anyway. I mean, I know it’s more or less a dead world now, not like in those history files I’ve read, but I’m sure I’d find it interesting,” _and let’s not forget my sophomore Goth phase, when it was all Bauhaus, Siouxsie and the Banshees, and late nights up in dorms watching cheesy vampire flicks and the ‘Evil Bear’ series. I’m sure I can keep myself sane in a mausoleum, even a cybernetic one._ “If you really think Megatron would go for that idea, I’m game.”

“Cool! Alien planet adventure!” enthused Amethyst, again perfectly misjudging the mood of the moment in a way one just couldn’t help but smile at. _I love this girl._ “Can we visit?”

“OBSERVATION: I FAIL TO SEE HOW WE COULD STOP YOU.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot, we are kind of badass.”

“Totally badass,” agreed Stormbird, but her smile quickly gave way to a very subdued expression as she turned to Optimus again. _No more avoiding this bit, though._ “Err, there’s one more favour I really need, Prime. Could you let my family know I’m alright? They’re probably sick with worry already, and it might come better from you … being respectable, and all. I mean, don’t tell them _everything_. Maybe just say I’ve been recruited for some classified research job. You can leave out the finer details: becoming a robot, working for an enemy power, and so on. I’ll break the rest of it to them eventually, but it’s going to take some thought.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” answered Optimus, magnanimously, _especially considering I just agreed to build infrastructure for his enemies. I might not care for his politics, but you’ve got to admit the guy’s a gent._ “One last thing before you leave, though: I believe this is yours,” he declared, holding out a familiar black-screened data tablet to Soundwave. It was somewhat different from when she had last seen it: partially on account of being in one piece, but also because the frame looked shinier, less tarnished, with the age-worn ornamental mouldings standing out more sharply than before. Cautiously, Soundwave took it and examined it.

“RAVAGE GAVE ME TO UNDERSTAND THAT THIS HAD BEEN DESTROYED,” he said, while turning it over in his hands and removing the backplate. “THE CIRCUITRY APPEARS INTEGRAL … ALTHOUGH I NOTE SOME OF THESE COMPONENTS ARE NEW.”

“Finding exact replacements for nine-million-year-old components was never going to be possible,” explained Optimus, “and the frame needed to be recast. Still, Ratchet assures me that all of the original data was saved. You will find it complete and unaltered. I will not say I wasn’t sorely tempted to have it erased … but that would do nothing to heal the scars of the past, either.”

“INDEED. IT APPEARS TO BE A COMPETENT RESTORATION, AND WITH NO DATA-GATHERING BUGS OR INVASIVE SOFTWARE THAT I CAN DETECT … DO NOT TELL ME YOU WOULD NOT HAVE CHECKED FOR THOSE AS WELL,” he added, as Optimus tilted his head in a wordless but sardonic gesture. His inspection complete, Soundwave replaced the backplate then stowed the tablet within his chest compartment. “FOR WHATEVER IT IS WORTH, YOU HAVE MY GRATITUDE.”

“It would be worth more, perhaps, if you resolved to learn from this experience.”

“I LEARN FROM ALL OF MY EXPERIENCES, PRIME, ALTHOUGH I CANNOT PROMISE I ASSIMILATE WHAT YOU MIGHT CONSIDER TO BE THE RIGHT LESSONS. STILL … I CONCEDE THAT THIS HAS BEEN A THOUGHT-PROVOKING FIASCO. IF NOTHING ELSE, A SOBERING REMINDER THAT POWERFUL, DYSFUNCTIONAL ALIEN REBELS SHOULD BE WARY OF CONSIDERING THEMSELVES UNIQUE IN THIS CHAOTIC UNIVERSE,” he remarked, while the Gems assumed a variety of innocent, ‘who, us?’ expressions. Stormbird smiled and shook her head. _It may not be shaping up to be an easy life, but with these guys even slightly involved, there’s not much chance of it being dull._

 


	8. I Could Even Learn How to Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much to the delight of Megatron - only too glad to have an excuse to see the back of her - Stormbird takes up her new assignment on Cybertron, her friendship with Soundwave more than enough consolation to sustain her on the bleak, near-dead planetoid. Soon, however, their relationship brings up new challenges ...

“You _want_ to go to Cybertron?” asked Megatron, incredulously, while Stormbird stood nervously to attention at her usual station, by the engine room console. “Run that by me again, if only so I can better ascertain just how much neural decay you are suffering.”

“I thought, maybe … I could do some good there, Leader,” she answered, tentatively. “I know it’s a pretty austere place, but-”

“‘Austere?’ It’s my native steel, and I don’t hesitate to describe it – in your parlance – as an unmitigated shithole. A derelict, depleted, and thoroughly depressing husk of a planetoid. Much as we gripe about Earth, it can hardly have escaped your notice that my troops aren’t exactly lining up to keep poor old Shockwave company. Even were Cybertron in less decrepit condition, sitting at home is not in our nature. Decepticons as a rule desire adventure, conquest … but I forget, of course: you are not a true Decepticon,” he added, so pettily that her only reaction was a very slight frown that only worsened his mood. “Oh, stop standing there like an imbecile, woman,” he snapped, “and use my name like everyone else does. I can get by quite well without your false respect.” Stormbird sighed, relaxed, and let herself lean against the console. “That’s better. Now, explain: what motivates this bizarre wish to exile yourself to Cyber-Siberia? Not a desire to atone for your past treachery, I assume. You seemed quite proud of it at the time.”

“I just thought, Megatron, maybe I could help to make it less of a … err, shithole. Utilise my skills, my background, and so forth. I know Cybertron’s pretty much inert geologically and hydrologically, but as long as it’s still in the Solar System there’s no reason at all it should starve for energy. We’re so much more versatile in outer space than humans, so there’s all sorts of possibilities we could explore: solar satellite engineering, extracting helium-3 from the gas giants, geothermal energy from the more active moons of-”

“I understand,” he interrupted, sneeringly. “You see this as a ‘civilian assignment,’ a way to isolate yourself from the sordid realities of our horrid, unethical struggle for survival, yes?” he asked, so pompously and hypocritically she could not help but grimace in contempt. With evident displeasure, he turned away from her and drew himself up before continuing: “Very well, my dear. I’ll humour this request. Perhaps a stint on Cybertron is exactly what you need, then after a few solar cycles have gone by, and you’ve had all the boredom and isolation you can take, you’ll better understand our need for new territories.” He marched a few steps towards the door, paused, then turned back to her. “On reflection, Soundwave will accompany you … What, no more reaction than that?” he asked, as she did her utmost to keep a poker face in spite of the mixture of pleasure, embarrassment, and downright suspicion that this statement had evoked. “I wasn’t daring to expect an outpouring of mushy gratitude – and I’m relieved at the accuracy of my prediction – but I’d hoped for something more than mere indifference.”

“I’ll … be happy to have the company, of course,” she replied, carefully. “I can’t help but wonder why, though.”

“Because, painful though it always is to admit dependency, I _need_ him. Stupid, disruptive, and disloyal Seekers I can give or take – it often occurs to me that I have far too many of them – but I need my chief intelligence officer, and I need him _focused_ , his mind on his function. Even Starscream is right on the rarest of occasions, and you two do need to get something out of your systems,” he declared, far too coldly and disdainfully for her to be under any illusions that he was concealing kind intentions. “Of course, simply terminating you would seem like the quicker fix … but I’m afraid I might never hear the end of it. Make your farewells to Earth, Stormbird. The pair of you will depart on the next alignment of the Space Bridge.”

************

_Austere is the word … to say the least._

Cybertron had always looked so shiny and ultra-modern in the occasional telescope images Stormbird had seen on news reports, like something that had sprung from the combined imaginations of Fritz Lang and Frank Lloyd Wright, with a dash of J R R Tolkien: all gleaming, impossibly high towers; vast silver domes; and mysterious chasms spanned by dizzying steel highways. _Well, some of that was true … but add quite a bit of decay, desolation, and general squalor._ From the surface, it was more of a metallic Gormenghast mixed with a run-down industrial estate: a sprawling, eerie, semi-desert of impressive but neglected buildings, scarred by battle damage both ancient and recent: for there were still Autobot resistance cells active on the planetoid, easily able to find hiding places within its abandoned cities and its innumerable, long-forgotten subterranean vaults and passages. To be fair, there was little rust: the thin, arid atmosphere kept that at bay, even if it also did little to shield the surface from the regular micrometeoroid strikes that left most of the buildings and highways scratched and dented. It also did little enough to refract the sunlight, leaving the planetoid to cycle between ‘night with sun’ and night proper. Not that this was particularly relevant to Stormbird, as she found that her new work schedules bore no relation to the Cybertronian ‘day.’ Shockwave would assign her duties, training, maintenance, downtime, and very occasional recreation precisely as and when suited him best, without any apparent concern for how disorienting she was finding it all anyway.

He was a harsh taskmaster, and took no pains to conceal his distrust of her. They had barely stepped out of the Cybertron Space Bridge terminal before Shockwave had separated them, whisking Soundwave off to some distant sector of the HQ compound to work on anti-resistance counterintelligence operations. With him out of the way, Shockwave had quickly assigned Stormbird to spartan, dreary barracks all by herself, and to the most menial, low-security jobs he could come up with: sentry duties, basic maintenance, low-priority repairs, and supply inventories, none of which provided her with any opportunities to commit serious sabotage – which she had no intention of doing anyway – nor to derive the slightest stimulation. His suspicion extended to her meagre recreational periods – which somehow never seemed to coincide with Soundwave’s – during which he made certain to deprive her not only of the liberty to leave HQ and explore her new homeworld, but even of any access to computer facilities. She found herself sorely missing her old post at the seabase engineering console, with its vast digital library that no-one seemed to have minded her perusing, with Ravage playing her music, and even those ill-tempered conversations with Megatron. With nothing to do now but take brief walks around the dismal compound, stargaze, mark time, and drink energon, it was not long before cabin fever started to set in, and only her sheer determination not to give either Shockwave or Megatron the satisfaction of seeing her break kept her going.

After 173,560 astro-seconds of this treatment, by her reckoning, when she was starting to entertain the idea of admitting defeat and pleading to be allowed back to Earth – although with no great expectation that Shockwave would give a damn – she was summoned to his office. She had been gearing up for an icy interrogation, or some thoroughly contemptuous lecture on her inadequacies as a Decepticon, so what followed actually came as a pleasant surprise. _Just goes to show, always expect the worst in life._

“You will, of course, understand my scepticism,” he explained, his voice still cold and condescending, although almost friendly by the standard she had come to expect. “When I first saw you, you were nothing but a laboratory specimen strapped to a table, an unintelligent Earth organic serving as some expendable experimental subject. Suddenly, I am told to treat you as a Decepticon. Unusual, to say the least. Not mine to reason why, of course, but since I was given no specific instructions on how to interpret that order, you can hardly blame me for pursuing a policy of maximum caution. I had fully expected your incompetence, savagery, or treachery to manifest in some form by now … and I must confess my apparent error. Had I treated Skywarp or Ramjet the way I have treated you, I would currently be dealing with open mutiny, to say nothing of sloppy inventories, shoddy repair jobs, and rubbish all over the corridors. Strange a decision although it was to upgrade an Earth creature, I can only concede it was successful, as you are demonstrably neither incompetent, unintelligent, nor disloyal. In light of that, I am altering your work schedules forthwith, to accommodate this energy research you wish to embark upon. Of course, it will come to nothing,” he remarked, dismissively. “Even overlooking your dubious origins, if you had any flair for science you would hardly be a Seeker. Still, you have earned the right to try. I will accordingly upgrade your security and data access rights. I am also increasing your recreational allowance, and giving you these,” he declared, while handing her two data chips. “One of those is your off-duty pass. It will allow you to leave HQ, if you wish to stretch your wings. If you _do_ , then study the other chip well: it details all known areas of high resistance activity on Cybertron. If you should venture into such an area, the probably fatal consequences are none of my responsibility. One last thing,” he continued, managing to look and sound awkward and uncomfortable, in spite of his totally inexpressive flashlight-of-a-face. “Soundwave has expressed some concern for your well-being. He, err, suggested you might be more comfortable over in Alpha Dome, sharing his quarters. He has installed a spare downtiming facility for your use, should you wish to take him up on this offer. All highly irregular, of course, but there you have it. I merely agreed to pass that on. The choice is entirely yours.”

_Oh hell, yes …_

From thereon, Stormbird was no longer troubled by her inability to measure the time by Earth standards, as she had a better way to mark it: the regular intervals that determined when she and her friend had to be apart, and when they could be together again, and even the times apart never seemed all that long. Now that she was able to balance her more menial duties with her research – which came along quite smoothly, in spite of Shockwave’s pessimism and prejudice – the working hours ceased to drag, although she was never reluctant to down tools, blasters, or data tablets to spend time with Soundwave. Most of their first few shared recreationals were spent flying over the currently undisputed zones of Cybertron, Stormbird revelling in being able to roam free again, and Soundwave taking the opportunity to show her around some of the more impressive ruins: ancient palaces, forums, and amphitheatres, although she was more interested still to see the remains of Tarn, the now-silent streets where her companion had once survived as an outcast, and the dilapidated basements and sewers which the Decepticons back in those days had used for their bases of operation, _back when we were the resistance. What goes around comes around, indeed … Hard to imagine Shockwave living down here, although if anyone could nag the retrorats into getting organised and cleaning up their mess, he’s the guy._

Later, when she had had her fill of exploration, they took to spending more time in his living quarters: more spacious, although almost as spartan as her old barracks-room had been, but with a few small, abstract sculptures; a tall, copper-coloured metal frame shaped like a sideways arch, that could summon energon ‘strings’ like those of a harp – although he was always too embarrassed to play it for her – and a single shelf bearing ancient books and data tablets, including his restored copy of Megatron’s pamphlet. The main advantage, however, was less in the décor and more in both the company and the atmosphere. Soundwave’s Earth altmode had clearly been well-chosen, as music was foremost among his non-political passions, and his zeal for the Decepticon cause did not limit his cultural tastes. He had no shortage of Earth music in his databanks which he was more than happy to play for her, while she for her part was delighted to hear samples from the vast collection of alien music he had stored. Some of it was so similar to Earth genres that she could almost have assigned it to its shelf in a record shop, while other pieces were so completely unlike anything she had ever heard in structure and melody that they would probably have sounded like random noise to human ears, but her cybernetic brain could perceive and appreciate their complex logic and harmony, _or maybe I’m just a natural connoisseur, as if._ Often they just listened, sitting on their downtime berths and sharing a bottle of energon. Sometimes they talked, which was no doubt more of an education for her than it was for him, although he listened with every sign of interest as she told him of the music of her own culture, the Kachina dances, the costumes and the rituals, _or perhaps he’s just being polite with me … though I sure hope not._

On one occasion, as they were listening to a distinctly waltz-like piece of chamber music from a planet known as Lithone, she decided she was curious about learning the steps, and they danced, although she did not take to it as quickly as she had thought she might. While the steps themselves were a simple enough mathematical formula for her brain to process, logic could not account for the many subtleties of actually doing them. _Not, at any rate, when being this close to him would make my heart beat treble-time, if I still had one._ The steps called for each dancer to rest the left hand lightly upon their partner’s waist, while using the right hand to cup the left side of their partner’s face, making every slight movement a striking reminder that Cybertronian skin was as sensitive as it was durable. _Some hope of not being distracted like this, and suddenly I’m acutely aware it’s coming on for a month since I last wore any clothes, and I’m guessing that he’s probably never- … Damn,_ she thought, as she missed a reverse turn, leading to a gentle if embarrassing full-body collision. _Oh, to Unicron with it._ Going on tiptoe, she leaned in to close up the last remnants of the gap between them, and she kissed him on his faceplate. She let it linger, but was worried after a couple of seconds that she had not only been presumptuous but also plain stupid. _Can he even feel through that thing? Not that I’ve even got any real reason to suppose he feels the same way, but- … Oh. I take that back._ His left hand had drifted downwards and was currently supporting her while taking the opportunity to caress her hip, while his right hand was gently stroking the edges of her lateral head-vents, which were proving surprisingly sensitive. Happily abandoning herself to the moment, she draped her arms fully around him and let her lips wander across his face and neck.

The remainder of that recreational was most definitely an education, albeit not in any subject that the data files cared to mention in any detail. _Anyway, this is the sort of thing you just have to experience for yourse- … Oh my. Who’d have known I was the kind of girl who gets such a kick out of having her wing-tips massaged?_ The Lithonian music continued playing, but the choreography, such as it was, had become a far more languid affair. With the pair of them lying horizontal upon the two downtime berths, now pushed together to form a single surface, it could hardly have been otherwise, but it lacked nothing for either intricacy or stimulation. Stormbird could only conjecture that Soundwave’s inability to return kisses in kind had one day led him to the conclusion that he needed to get really good with his hands, _and did he ever …_ Adept as those hands were at ruthlessly pummeling Autobots, she thought them rather better employed in delicately caressing the remarkable number of erogenous zones someone had seen fit to incorporate into a mech body: the sides of her chest intakes, the sharp points to which her feet tapered, the inner edges of her shoulder pylons, and more ‘human’ areas such as the small of her back, the curve of her waist, and her inner thighs. Sometimes, instead of touching her directly he would lightly energise his fingertips and let small arcs of pinkish lightning to do the caressing for him, which was a very different feeling, although no less pleasurable. She tried to will her own fingertips to do the same, but had to give it up as a lost cause. _Either I don’t have that functionality, or this is simply not the best of times to concentrate on learning a new skill … probably that._ Instead, she just stuck to the familiar tropes of kissing, and running her hands lovingly over his forehead crest, his shoulders, his chest panel, the array of buttons on his abdomen, and what, for want for any precise technical terminology, she could only think of as his very firm ass, _not that I’m hearing any complaints._

Suddenly, when everything had seemed to be going so well – _which is to say I’m so blissed-out right now I’d struggle to tie my own shoelaces … or polish my feet, at any rate_ – he paused, his hand resting upon her lower abdomen, with an air of uncertainty. She was briefly worried that she had done something inept, and looked up at him with concern, but he quickly reassured her:

“THIS CAN, IF YOU WISH, BE EVEN BETTER … BUT I NEED YOUR CONSENT.”

“Please,” was all she managed to say by way of affirmation, in a faint whisper, but she confirmed it by nodding her head slowly. With a gentle, precise series of motions, Soundwave ran his fingers over a small area of her torso, just below where a human’s navel would have been. As he took his hand away, a panel popped open, exposing her inner workings. That simple, seemingly innocuous act somehow took her sense of nakedness up to eleven, to say nothing of her vulnerability, curiosity, and excitement. He then took her right hand in his and tenderly laid it upon his own midriff, just above the projection that formed the ‘play’ button in his altmode. As soon as she felt the thin dividing line of the recessed panel beneath her fingers, it seemed to trigger some new instinct in her, and without having to think about it or experiment at all, she copied his motions exactly, releasing the concealed hinge and revealing intricate silver circuitry patterns and shimmering fibre optic cables beneath. _Beautiful, in fact, but what now?_ She soon got the idea, as Soundwave began partially disconnecting various cables from his own workings and wiring them into hers. She could not help but find something slightly absurd in this process, at least on the superficial level, as it bore more of a resemblance to some clichéd action movie bomb-priming sequence than lovemaking. _There’s probably a tasteless joke in there if I care to say it, but I won’t._ She could tell from Soundwave’s demeanour that this was as serious as it was intimate for him, and her instincts were telling her much the same. Indeed, she sensed that human lovemaking was no longer even a very good analogy for what they were doing. _This is something beyond, something almost spiritual. Perhaps Gem fusion would be a better analogy … of the lovely, symbiotic Garnet kind, obviously, and not the Lovecraftian, creepy-as-hell Spinel kind._ Just before making the final connection, Soundwave paused, and spoke again:

“THIS WILL INITIATE THE POWERED CORE INTERFACE FOR A DURATION OF TWO HUNDRED ASTRO-SECONDS. LONGER IS NOT RECOMMENDED. PEOPLE WHO HAVE IGNORED THAT PRECAUTION HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO BECOME … LOST IN THESE EXPERIENCES. DONE CORRECTLY, THOUGH, IT CAN BE HIGHLY INTENSE AND REWARDING, BUT IT IS NEVER PREDICTABLE, AND IT CAN BE DISCONCERTING, ESPECIALLY FOR THOSE NEW TO IT. ARE YOU CERTAIN- ?”

“I trust you completely,” she whispered, resting her hand upon his flat, angular cheek. He briefly returned the gesture, before returning his full attention to the complex interface. Taking exquisite care, he plugged the last fibre optic cable into her exposed workings, to immediate and at first rather disturbing effect, as everything in sight started to fade to white, while her other senses became vague and confused. At first she feared a mistake in the wiring had simply caused something like a fainting fit, but then things resolved again in the strangest way: while most of the surroundings had become a plain white void, speckled here and there with tiny, dancing points of exceptional brightness, the brightest objects of all within this empty yet serene vastness were her and Soundwave’s bodies. _At least, I suppose it’s him._ They were standing a short distance apart from each other, enough for her to get a good overview of this tall, naked, powerfully-built being of light, but the lines of his figure – even allowing for the bright, obscuring aura – seemed less hard and angular, and there was even the hint of a humanoid face, although detail and expression were next to impossible to discern through the brightness. Examining her own body, _or spirit-body, or hallucination, or whatever,_ she could see that the same thing had happened to her, with many of her harder-edged, overtly mechanical features muted or missing altogether. She was pleased, however, to see that she still had wings in this form, though of a changed aspect: delicate, translucent, curving expanses of pure energon, like an insect’s. Giving them a test flutter, she found they propelled her forward quite nicely for all their ghostliness, and they bore her straight into the outstretched arms of her lover.

As they embraced, she realised he had certainly not exaggerated the ‘intense’ part: everywhere they touched, their dazzling bodies seemed to blur and meld, to the accompaniment of the most powerful, all-encompassing sense of euphoria and completeness. This was far beyond mere physical pleasure, but a glorious all-in-one synthesis of harmony, beauty, sweetness, gaiety, excitement, contentment, _and best of all, empathy._ The closer they embraced, almost melting into each other, she could feel his ecstasy and his love for her with nearly as much clarity as her own feelings, and that intensified her pleasure greatly, _and this is just first base, so to speak. What would a kiss be like here?_ She gave her wings another tiny flutter, just to equalise the small height difference and bring her face on the same level as his – there was no gravity here, fortunately – then she zeroed in on her lover’s lips, or as near as she could guess. There was definitely a face somewhere in all of that brilliance, but it was still mainly a mystery to her. _Still, if I don’t get to know him better this way,_ she thought, as she felt their faces shimmer and merge, while the euphoria and sense of connection intensified to new heights, _I guess I never will._ Now, there seemed as little division between their minds and feelings as their was between their bodies, and that was fine – much better than fine, indeed: a perfect synergy of love, respect, joy …

 _Shame … Overpowering shame._ It had come out of nowhere, this horrible note of discord, and shattered the whole harmony. With it came images, in rapid succession and no particular order, but when Stormbird remembered the experience later, she had no great difficulty in making chronological sense of them …

 

She had been in the Science Academy in Iacon, with various high-ranking Autobots staring at her in disappointment and suspicion, the joy and wonder of her first moments online now a sad memory. She was not what they had wanted …

She had been in the slums of Tarn, a dilapidated, friendless, half-wreck of a robot, now wishing she had just let the scientists reformat her. Scavenging in some forgotten scrapyard – more or less a paupers’ grave – for usable components, a shadow had fallen over her, and she had looked up into the steel-grey, hard-lined face of a Decepticon warrior. Just when she had thought she was about to become salvageable scrap herself, the stranger had smiled and extended a hand …

She was in a squalid basement HQ, using her chest panel to display a computer-generated model of the government energy store she and her comrades were planning to raid, while Megatron, Shockwave, and the others stood around, discussing their strategy. She knew, though, that not all of them accepted her as a Decepticon, in spite of the sigil she now wore. To some, she would always be nothing but some freakish reject of a civilian prototype, that just happened to have a useful, albeit creepy quirk. _So, I am no perfectly-engineered machine of war like them. No matter. Megatron judges only by merit, not by heritage or ‘perfection,’ and I will justify his faith_ …

She was on the flight deck of the _Nemesis_ , in pursuit of the Autobot refugee force. Cybertron, in the rear viewscreen, looked grey and dead, the scars of war visible even over two hundred thousand miles away. It evoked only a cold, jaded feeling in her, like the mission itself, and the company of most of her comrades. Other than her personal force of scouts – her own creations, to whom she remained fiercely, paternally protective – the Decepticons who had managed to survive the long-drawn holocaust were nothing but opportunistic thugs, who loathed her as much as she did them. Even Megatron had changed, not that he would ever admit it: that charismatic champion of individual empowerment and freedom who had dragged her from the depths only showed in flashes now, between the bullying, cynicism, and paranoia he had increasingly come to depend upon to sustain his position over this rabble. Still, she had not forgotten that she owed him everything. _I will have my leader back as he was, and help him realise our dream, if even the vague possibility still exists. If not, we will at least have our revenge on those who reduced us to this,_ she thought, bitterly, as she tracked the progress of the Autobot vessel …

She was on Earth, now, attacking oil rigs, power stations, military bases, and anywhere else they could gather the resources they needed, while the native organics fled in terror. _Best not to think too hard about that, though._ These humans were an inferior and in many ways a contemptible species, undoubtedly, but intel-gathering had required her to read some of their minds, so she knew that at least a few of them were not totally devoid of courage, honour, passion, even intelligence. _Qualities any Decepticon ought to commend. Indeed, qualities a few Decepticons of this sad era could use a lot more of … but that is irrelevant. Brave individuals die in war, that is simple logic. I myself am an obsolete, battle-weary wreck who will have no place in the new Decepticon order we hope to build, and the resources of this world are our last chance to do so. Focus on your duty._ Over time, it had become easier and easier to rationalise that …

It was 1985, during the brief Decepticon occupation of Central City, when Decepticon manipulation of the human media outlets had actually led these idiotic, ungrateful primitives to exile the Autobots from Earth, leaving them at Megatron’s non-too-conspicuous mercy, _not that they’ve deserved any._ She had been tasked with managing the slaves at the main power plant, and was currently fitting energon wrist shackles to a group of them the Seekers had just rounded up from the human university. Most of them were pathetic, downcast creatures – cattle being led out into the fields – but one brown-skinned woman glared at her with hatred and defiance throughout the process. When the shackles were fitted, she gave this prisoner a particularly sharp push to send her on her way. The woman very nearly lost her footing, but managed to steady herself, and spat on her foot by way of parting. For a moment, she was tempted to shoot her, but she kept her restraint. _Megatron or Starscream wouldn’t have hesitated, and they’d have made her a martyr. That’s power, for those brave enough to claim it. We Decepticons had martyrs … once._

 

A great force seemed to propel Stormbird backwards, until she was no longer even within arm’s reach of her lover. Soundwave’s avatar was now on his hands and knees within a swirling tempest of the dancing lights, still bright, but cold and harsh. She attempted to close the distance, but found herself unable to progress beyond the lights, which formed an impassible barrier between them. Giving that up as a lost cause, she tried to speak some words of comfort to him, though what seemed to emerge were syntactical ‘ideas’ rather than sounds. _Still, whatever does the job._

_Hey, Soundwave. That girl in the chain gang wasn’t me, I promise. I didn’t like the Autobots much at the time, true, but I wasn’t dumb enough to hang around Central City after Megatron framed them. I spent that whole summer on the reservation with my family … planning the décor in my ideal disaster survival bunker._

_But she might as well have been you,_ came the reply, full of despondency and self-loathing. _I’d have treated her just the same. I treated so many the same … or even worse. I aided and abetted plans that could have ended in the extinction of humanity, you included._

_I know. I knew that before I met you, and believe me, there were more than a few times I considered the way we humans treat our planet and our fellow beings, and I’ve thought that we’d be damn lucky if the first intelligent aliens we met didn’t treat us like parasitic vermin. Megatron had a point … albeit a selfish and over-simplistic one._

_But I of all people should have known better. No, I did know better, and I suppressed it. This whole thing was a mistake. Please, don’t look at me. Your love for me is an aberration. By all rights you should despise me more than anyone … but the interface program will end soon, and I will discreetly arrange for your return to Earth. You belong with the Autobots, not-_

_That’s enough. I get to decide who I love and hate, and you’re in category one, mister, like it or not. Anyway, if I got to see all of your ugly little mental demons, I guess you must have seen mine too. Geez, that’s a sobering thought … but have you stopped loving me?_

_Those?_ he asked, dismissively. _A few trivial lies? Petty, unpremeditated acts of cruelty? A handful of irrelevant scrap. I don’t even recognise the woman you are from those memories._

_Funny you should say-_

_No. Our failings do not bear comparison. You cannot forgive me so easily. I was willing to throw every moral standard – including those of my own cause – to the astral winds, and for what? Fear of disappointing the man who once taught me to value myself, but whom I have barely been able to recognise for countless millennia? What kind of pathetic, hypocritical coward does that make me?_

_Err, kind of human … no offence,_ but the sad little joke did nothing to raise his demolished spirits, so she took a more serious tone. _For what it’s worth, I’ve seen what you saw in him too … if only very briefly, I admit. Honour, humility, even a dash of heroism. It was there, just for a moment, before he pushed it back into its cyber-coffin, nailed it down, and went back to full-on paranoid android mode. Maybe one of these days you’ll have better luck resurrecting it than you did back at Kachina Valley. I really hope so … but what matters to me more is that you stood up to him, and not just for me, but for everyone who might have fallen victim to that horrible Gem weapon. We can’t change any of the things we’ve done, but-_

_Actually, we did once have a device called the Kronosphere, that-_

_I’ll pass, thanks. Screwing with causality’s probably a worse idea than learning to live with our demons. Look, you believed in me, and I believe in you. Don’t let these memories come between us. They happened, they were shit, and it’ll be better for everyone if they never happen again, but I want the chance for us to make some better memories … please,_ she asked, extending her hand towards the barrier of cold, swirling lights. It might have been wishful thinking, but they seemed a little slower and fainter than before. The crouched figure within the circle looked up, slowly and tentatively, and reached out, until his fingers touched the same point of the barrier as Stormbird’s. Suddenly, the lights dispersed, flying in all directions, and Stormbird wasted no time in flying forwards and catching Soundwave’s avatar in a fiery embrace before he could even rise to his virtual feet. For a few seconds, she again knew that wonderful sense of all-encompassing pleasure and wholeness, albeit now tinged with sadness, but even that only seemed to enhance their love, giving it a new layer of meaning and purpose.

The vision passed as abruptly as it had commenced, and she found herself back in the dimly-lit, steel-walled confines of Soundwave’s quarters, and the comparative clunkiness and absurdity of her robotic body, but without regret. _It’s home._ Nor was the figure lying alongside her, still wired up to her torso, any radiantly beautiful digital angel, but she was glad of it. _Sometimes, all a girl really wants is a hug from the messed-up mech she fell for,_ and Stormbird availed herself of just that.

After a few minutes, Soundwave disconnected the idle interface, they triggered their downtime cycles together, and they powered down into hibernation mode in each other’s arms. She woke up to find him leaning over her, her face cupped in one of his hands while the other was gently pouring a ‘glass’ of energon into her mouth. At first, she thought that a nice romantic gesture, but it turned out to be entirely an expression of concern: their outage durations had been set to synchronise, but he had woken up before her, and had needed to give her energon to boost her reactivation. On reflection, she had to admit that she did not feel great, either. She was slightly weak and dazed, and although she had no point of comparison for how a Cybertronian should feel after a night of … _well, you know,_ this was certainly not how she was used to feeling after her downtimes. That was all the confirmation Soundwave needed to hastily amend her duty schedule and order her to report for a diagnostic.

She was halfway to the personnel maintenance unit, her head throbbing and her senses reeling every step of the way, when she collapsed. When she next regained consciousness, she was looking up into a metal ceiling from which various instruments were secured on gantries, including a diagnostic monitor which displayed weak and unsteady waveform patterns. Medicroid drones were stationed all around the bench on which she lay, and Soundwave and Shockwave were both looking down upon her. In spite of not having a complete set of facial features between them, their air was entirely discouraging.

************

_Autobot resistance base, Iacon sub-city levels, 12,000 astro-seconds later …_

 

 _Well, so much for that resolution,_ thought Chromia, sadly, as she examined the patient. She had been gearing herself up to receive her ‘guests’ coldly, and the background information the Earth Autobot cell had provided, conveyed via subspace radio by a very disapproving Ironhide, had done nothing to sway her from that intention. On the contrary, she tended to agree with her estranged partner that any human who would join the Decepticons of their own free will had forfeited the right of compassion. However, with the young female Seeker actually prostrate before her, stirring very feebly, the light in her red eyes flickering in spite of the energon drip she was hooked up to, and drops of perspired coolant shimmering all over her face and body, that harsh intention did not survive a nano-second. _I guess love is blind, anyway, and she really must love him, or she wouldn’t be in this fix in the first place,_ she reasoned, while glancing with unalloyed hostility at Soundwave. He was standing in a corner of the subterranean vault the guerrillas had converted into their infirmary, his hands raised, while Moonracer kept him covered with a pistol, although the glare she was treating him to already looked as if it might burn a hole in his head. In all justice, the Decepticon officer had kept his word according to their conditions for this unprecedented meeting: he was unarmed, with even his shoulder cannon disconnected; his chest compartment was empty of deployable scouts or concealed weapons; all of his communication and networking facilities were disabled; and in a quaint but highly advisable touch, he was blindfolded with a thick strip of lead-lined fabric. Nevertheless, it was hard for Chromia – a veteran of so many battles, who had lost more to the Decepticons than she cared to recall – to consider him with anything other than hatred, _and I’m not likely to cry him a hydro-conduit just because he’s seduced some poor sap of an Earth alien into damn near killing herself … though I guess he deserves a bit of credit for having the guts to bring her to me, knowing I’d gladly put a plasma bolt right in his head. We’ll hold off on that for her sake, but that’s no reason to go soft on the vicious old bastard._

“So, not just an evil Decepticon, but a damn irresponsible one,” she commented, scornfully, while turning her eyes back to the monitor of the positronic imaging scanner. Upon it, two shimmering spheres of plasma, one slightly smaller than the other, but both like pale purple lightning contained in invisible globes, were orbiting each other in a white void, connected only by a thin arc of energy. “There it is, no doubt about it: complete spark mitosis. Didn’t your mommy ever tell you to use proper firewalls when you play with the girls?”

“I WILL ASSUME THAT WAS A FLIPPANT QUESTION,” answered Soundwave, in that dead voice of his that lent itself all-too-well to sarcasm. “YOU KNOW VERY WELL THIS IS A RARE OCCURRENCE, AND NEITHER STORMBIRD NOR I WERE THUS CREATED. I HAVE KNOWN VERY FEW WHO WERE. RUMOUR HAS IT, THOUGH, THAT YOU HAVE NOT ONLY WITNESSED SEVERAL SUCH INCEPTIONS, BUT HAVE SUCCESSFULLY CARRIED THEM OUT. MAY I DARE HOPE THAT IS TRUE?”

“Sure, I know the procedure … if I care to do it, of course,” she added, pointedly.

“YOU WOULD LEAVE HER TO DIE? IF THAT SECONDARY SPARK IS LEFT IN HER LASER CORE, SHE IS UNLIKELY TO SURVIVE MORE THAN-”

“She’ll last a few more cycles, though it certainly won’t hurt to do it soon. Even with the energon drip, the power drain’s getting worse, so you did the right thing bringing her to me … although I somehow doubt Megatron would agree. Does he know you’re here?”

“OF COURSE NOT, AND I AM NOT IN THE HABIT OF GIVING OTHER PEOPLE MATERIAL WITH WHICH TO BLACKMAIL ME, SO YOU CAN APPRECIATE HOW SERIOUS I AM. JUST CARRY OUT THIS OPERATION, AND YOU MAY SET ANY CONDITIONS YOU PLEASE.”

“That’s what we like to hear, and there _will_ be conditions, I can assure you of- … Hey, you just relax, girl,” ordered Chromia, sternly but not unkindly, as she noticed the patient attempting to raise her arm. “Don’t strain yourself even more. I’ve got this licked, trust me. I guess it all seems pretty frightening right now … especially if everything I’ve heard about you is true, but you’re not going to die, I promise. What’s happened, see, is that-”

“I’m pregnant … right?” asked Stormbird, very weakly.

“Err, that’s a crude analogy, I guess, but if you’re expecting to pop out some teeny little red-eyed metal horror, you can think again. All that’s happened is that when your sparks touched in the core interface, they generated a third spark, and now she’s sitting in your laser core, putting a huge strain on all your systems. If we don’t extract her and install her into a core of her own-”

“‘She?’ What makes you … say that?”

“Well, you can’t always tell just from the PI scan, but that’s the feeling I get, looking at her aura. It probably won’t hurt to engineer her a female body, anyway. If I’m wrong, and she doesn’t take to it, she can always transfer later.”

“Our daughter,” whispered Stormbird, with a faint smile. “And she’ll be … okay?”

“It’s been a few million years since I last had any demand for this skill, I admit,” replied Chromia, while rummaging through long-unexplored depths of her toolbox for the instruments she needed, “but I know what I’m doing. I’ll need you to trust me, though. You’ll have to stay online during the procedure. The sparks tend to drift closer together together during downtime, making it nigh-on-impossible to separate them safely. It’s not exactly painful, but it sure is weird to experience, having your own spark poked about and your core purged. We’ll make you as comfortable as we can. Hey, Moonracer,” she called out to her comrade, with the smooth blueish-green bodywork, the angry expression, and the itchy trigger finger. “Bring lover boy over here, and take the blindfold off him.” Will all due reluctance, the guerrilla complied, while keeping her pistol trained on the prisoner every second. “Right. Take her hand, Soundwave,” ordered Chromia, dispassionately. He did not hesitate to scoop up Stormbird’s limp left hand and cradle it in his larger ones, with every sign of tenderness and none of making a grab for Moonracer’s gun. _Encouraging, but let’s take no risks._ “Come round here, Moonracer, to her head. I might need you to hold her down, just in case we get any motor system feedback,” _or if she starts writhing in pain, but no need to jinx things._ “Wait for the order, though, and don’t take your eyes off you-know-who. You know something, Soundwave,” she continued, while removing some equipment from the toolbox and assembling it into two devices: both with pistol-like grips and long, thin probing tips, but otherwise distinct. One of them had an electromagnetic coil connected between the probe and the grip, while the other had a thick cylinder of metal that was partially open and empty: evidently the housing for something that had yet to be inserted. “You’re a real lucky bastard. If it’d been _you_ who’d drawn the short straw, I’d have happily let that new spark burn you up, call me a cold bitch if you-”

“Come again?” asked Stormbird, her weakness doing little to dampen her incredulity. “Soundwave could’ve … gotten pregnant?”

“Well, sure,” answered Chromia, with casual surprise, then the Shanix dropped. “Oh, I get where you’re coming from. Our gender’s got nothing to do with our biology, since we don’t really _have_ biology, after all. Mind you,” she reflected, while taking an empty glass cylinder with golden caps at both of its ends and plugging it into the empty housing on the second instrument, “I must admit, most of the robots I’ve done this for were women. Either Old Mother Cosmos must have a very unfair streak, or more likely she just knows most men are idiots.” Stormbird laughed, albeit ever so slightly, but Chromia was glad of it nonetheless. _The more relaxed she is, the easier this will be for me._ “Okay, sweetie, just you hold still, now. I’m going to open up your chest panel, then you’re probably not going to see much.” With a few deft movements, Chromia unfastened the transparent, yellow-tinted canopy that formed Stormbird’s cockpit shield in her altmode, hinged it upwards, then activated some interior controls that caused an inner panel to slide open. Beneath this, deep within her chest cavity, a glass cylinder like the one in the surgical instrument was now visible, only this one contained a brilliant, albeit flickering light. “Your laser core’s now exposed. I’m ready to go in. This is likely to feel _very_ strange for you, probably uncomfortable, but try not to be frightened. If it helps, please feel free to squeeze Soundwave’s hand as tightly as you like. I’m sure he won’t mind a few crushed finger actuators for a good cause,” she remarked, wryly, while carefully manoeuvring both of her probes to tiny holes in the lower cap of Stormbird’s laser core. Slowly and gently, she pushed them in. Stormbird gave a quick gasp of surprise or fear, and her hand certainly tensed, but she quickly mastered her reaction, and no finger-crushing occurred. _Oh well, can’t have it all,_ thought Chromia, resignedly, turning her attention back to the PI monitor, which now displayed the magnified tips of both probes as well as the orbiting sparks. _Here’s where it gets really tricky. One false move with the electron lancet, and I could easily damage either spark. I need to get just the right timing and angle. It’s half precision engineering, half plain downright sharpshooting._ Using a foot pedal control, she altered the angle and elevation of the scanner until she had the right perspective, then she took aim with the lancet, silently rattled off a quick prayer to Primus, and fired it in a single, rapid burst.

The microscopically thin electron beam struck the strand of plasma between the two sparks close to its centre, immediately interrupting it and fully separating both spheres of energy. Stormbird gasped again, but managed to hold herself steady. Soundwave also seemed to wince a little. _Finger-pain, or just anxiety? I suppose this is his lover and his scion too, gruesome a thought though that is._ Before the sparks could drift close together again and potentially form a new connection, Chromia manoeuvred the second probe until its tip was no more than a micrometre away from the smaller spark, then she pulled the instrument’s trigger. The magnified probe tip glowed brightly on the monitor, exerting a magnetic force that quickly absorbed the nearby spark. As soon as it was fully absorbed, she withdrew both probes, and examined the laser core in the instrument’s housing. It was now shining with a mauve-tinged radiance, bright and steady, and Stormbird’s laser core appeared just the same. Even the light in her eyes was already regaining strength. Smiling joyfully in spite of herself, Chromia laid her instruments aside and resealed her patient’s panels. _The old magic’s still there, not that I’m likely to have much call for it again._

“Did it go alright?” asked Stormbird, her voice still quiet, but steadier. “Is she- ?”

“She’s fine,” declared Chromia, removing the laser core from the instrument and holding it up so that Stormbird could see it. “The core transfer went smoothly, and she’s stabilised perfectly into her new ‘home,’ so to speak. You did really well, but you’d better take it easy, and stay on the drip for a bit. You can take some energon orally in a few minutes, when your absorbers are fully online again. You’ll be fighting fit in no time, though,” _and quite possibly fighting Autobots, ironically enough. Why is the right thing to do so often the dumb thing?_

“Thank you. Err … would it sound really silly if I asked to hold her? I mean, I know she’s only a component right now, but-”

“Not silly at all,” interrupted Chromia, smiling again. She elevated the bench a little, to raise Stormbird into something close to a sitting position, and she passed her the laser core. “Be careful, though,” she added, as she noticed that Stormbird’s hands were still moving rather weakly. Soundwave had noticed that too, as he placed his own hands on the core to help keep it steady, and they held it tenderly between them. For all her hatred of the Decepticon spymaster, Chromia could not help but find the scene touching, _especially considering it’s now my duty to pour liquid nitrogen on it, but so be it. They knew better than to expect a free ride to domestic bliss._

“Okay, it gives me no joy to bring this up, but I’ve done my part, and conditions _were_ agreed,” she announced, sternly. “It’s high time we talked about those.”

“OF COURSE,” said Soundwave, turning to face her even though he kept his hands upon the core. “YOU MAY NAME YOUR PRICE. I CAN PROCURE ARMS, ENERGON, SHANIX-”

“I’m no mercenary,” cut in Chromia, contemptuously. “You think I did this for loot? I guess you would think that, but _I_ happen to believe innocent lives are priceless … and that’s why I’m going to have to be cruel with you,” she declared, regretfully, to Stormbird. “I don’t intend to cut you out of her life altogether, but there is no way in all Cybertron this poor little scion is getting raised as a Decepticon. I’m afraid when you two go home, you’re going to be leaving her with us,” she insisted, while Stormbird bowed her head in sad, silent resignation. Still, it was a better reaction than Chromia had expected. _Soundwave probably warned her that this was a distinct possibility._ “We’ll construct her a body – an Autobot body – and she’ll live, train, and fight with this cell, unless of course she prefers to join the Earth faction. We’ll work out some way you can see her every now and again … under supervision, of course. Sorry, but we can’t risk you pouring Decepticon propaganda in her audio receptors. Also, this doesn’t apply to _him_ ,” she clarified, icily, while giving Soundwave a rapid glance of deepest suspicion. “He doesn’t get to see her at all. Frankly, I’d sooner she never even had to know his name, though I guess I can’t stop you telling her about him, but I _can_ stop-”

“Sorry, no way,” said Stormbird, her tone grave and surprisingly strong. “My daughter’s going to know her father. That’s non-negotiable.”

“Err, you’re not exactly in a position to make demands, Stormbird,” pointed out Chromia, matter-of-factly. “I sympathise, but be that as it may-”

“No demands, Chromia, but have you considered what _she’s_ going to think? You’re forgetting: she’s _our_ scion, so whatever else she is, you can bet she’ll be the type who likes to find things out for herself, and doesn’t appreciate anyone trying to shove her into boxes. Anyway, what about Optimus Prime?” she added, knowingly. “What’s his world view, again? ‘Freedom is the right of all sentient beings,’ and all that jazz? How’s she going to feel if she figures you don’t trust her to make her own choices?” Chromia found herself stuck for a good answer to that, and Stormbird wasted no time in seizing the initiative. _Fair play. Whatever her competence as a Decepticon warrior, she sure has a killer instinct for getting her way._ “Look, we guessed things might go this way, so we had a think. How would it be if every time we arranged to meet her, we did it in a neutral setting, where you could be certain of our good behaviour? We had a couple of ideas, though I’m not sure where we put the …” at which she tailed off uncertainly, and turned to Soundwave.

“AFFIRMATIVE. THERE WAS A DATA CHIP,” Soundwave continued for her. “YOUR COMRADE CONFISCATED IT OFF ME WHEN WE ENTERED HERE. IT DETAILS TWO POSSIBLE NEUTRAL MEETING LOCATIONS.” Chromia looked at Moonracer, who passed her the data chip with a sceptical expression. _Well, I suppose it won’t cost me anything to look,_ decided Chromia, as she took the chip and fed it into an air-gapped terminal. That caution proved unnecessary, as all it contained were two topographical maps and additional data on the places they depicted, although the actual locations, if not actually suspicious, were certainly surprising.

“Both on Earth, I see. ‘Keams Canyon, Hopi Reservation, Arizona,’” she recited, while reading from the annotations on the first file, which displayed a wireframe graphic of a rugged, rocky-looking patch of terrain dotted with sparse organic growth and a few small, squarish buildings. “Why there? I mean, it’s quite close to the Earth Autobot cell, which is certainly a plus factor, but why not just suggest the Ark itself?”

“Because she’s got family there,” replied Stormbird, simply and firmly, “and I want her to know them.”

“She’s got family? How on … ? Oh, of course,” said Chromia, realisation dawning. _It’s so easy to forget she was once human._ “And, err, are you sure _they’ll_ want to know _her_? I don’t have much experience with humans myself, but from what Ironhide tells me, they’re not always enthusiastic about aliens in their midst, never mind their family circle.”

“Am I sure my folks will want to know their own granddaughter? Damn straight. They’re good people, Chromia, and not likely to want to endanger their own homeworld by encouraging Megatron’s agenda, so you can be sure we won’t be discussing politics at the dinner table. Also, since it _is_ close to the Ark, you can’t say I’m not making it easy for you to send over an Autobot chaperone, if you feel the need for one.”

“Well … that’s a fair point,” she conceded, a little reluctantly, while switching to the next file. This one depicted a much stranger scene: a small peninsula with a cluster of buildings in its centre, and a large rocky outcrop near its far end, sloping upwards and terminating in a steep cliff that faced the ocean. The cliff face was elaborately and impressively carved into an immense statue: the torso and head of a six-armed, goddess-like figure, although three of the stone arms had broken off below the elbow and seemed to be embedded near the shoreline. _The artefact of some primitive Earth cult, perhaps? Mind you, that’s some seriously epic sculpture for primitive people._ She turned her attention to the annotations. “‘Crystal Temple, Beach City, Delmarva.’ Does she have family there as well?”

“In a manner of speaking,” answered Stormbird, with a small, enigmatic smile. “Maybe you should double-check that one with Prime, but I’m sure he’ll be cool with it.”

“I'll see what I can do,” agreed Chromia, a little wearily. _Pretty sure I just lost the argument, there. I should have just taken the bribe while the going was good …_ “There’s one other thing I’m going to have to put my foot down on, though: her name. I’m not having her lumbered with ‘Laserwitch’ or ‘Venomwing’ or any other Decepticon nonsense. She might have to live with this for centuries, after all, so for Primus’ sake, let’s pick something honest and decent. ‘Aradia,’ ‘Jetstar,’ ‘Arcee,’” she suggested, casually. “Just a few personal favourites there, but no pressure, as long as you go for something reasonably non-evil.”

“We’ve already decided on a name. How does ‘Obsidian’ strike you?”

“That’s … a _bit_ Decepticon-y,” said Chromia, with a small frown, “but I guess it’s not too bad. Any particular reason, or just personal preference?”

“It’s in honour of some friends, and they’re not Decepticons … though I don’t know if you’d completely approve of them,” added Stormbird, roguishly. “Still, I doubt she’d be here at all if it wasn’t for them.”

“Fair enough, then. You know, Stormbird, you’re a weird girl, if you don’t mind me saying, but I’ve a feeling you’ll shake this war up just by existing … though whether for good or ill, who can say?” This was more or less just thinking aloud, and it was perhaps a testimony to how quiet and reflective Chromia’s tone was, that neither Stormbird nor Soundwave were paying attention anymore, but focusing all their attention on the shining component they held so carefully and lovingly between them. _Oh, what the heck. We can risk giving them a bit of space, just until she’s fit to move._ Chromia made some silent gestures to Moonracer, who quickly understood, and they left the infirmary together, being certain to security-lock the door behind them, not that Chromia really expected her guests to try to escape. _This isn’t an ideal situation for them anymore than it is for us, not to mention for the poor scion. The daughter of Decepticons, with human heritage, raised by Autobots … Either she’s going to grow up to be a hideous mess, or something spectacular … or maybe even both. I guess no-one ever said hope had to come in a normal package._

 

The End.

 


End file.
